[Thanks for the request! Brief strong language warning. Hope you enjoy!]
§
Her sneer was unimaginably cold, and she glared at her father across the table. “What… strategy is this?” Her meal sat abandoned in front of her. “You would make me a hostage, a token of your submission? Marry me to some Stark brat?” She was more Bolton than she knew.
Anonymous requested: “I wonder if you could whip up another Robb Stark x Male Reader with smut please. Something along the lines of a royal visitor arrives at Winterfell with whom Robb is extremely taken with, the visitor likewise and they sneak off in the dead of night to do the deed.”
warnings: sexual thoughts and actions, sexual teasing and descriptions
You’d always had a weakness for the pretty ones. The first sons of Lords who had a veritable endless inheritance, but would bet it all on a single night of unfamiliar pleasure. It’d become a game for you. A few words, followed by a few glances, and if everything turned out well…
You were one of the lesser Tyrell cousins, little to inherit and even less expected of you, so you experienced a certain degree of freedom unusual for men of your standing. You’d begun a grand tour of Westeros, starting in King’s Landing and drifting through several other cities, before finding yourself in the temperate (to put it lightly) North.
The Stark family had treated you kindly, and invited you to stay as long as you’d like, and with their vision of an eldest son, you planned to be abusing their hospitality for a few weeks longer.
@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested “Or a Targaryen!reader x Dany Targaryen reader after khal drogo dies and they comfort each other?”
Incest warning!
{Sorry this is a bit short! It’s been sitting in my drafts for a few months, and I tried to make it longer, but found I couldn’t do much without losing the heart of the story. Hope you enjoy! <3}
She caressed her sister’s cheek fondly, tracing the prominence of her cheekbone with her slender thumb. “Are you ready?”
Daenerys thought for a minute, before nodding softly.
“You’re so strong.” It was a phrase she often repeated, spoken with revere and affection she still did not understand. Y/N had known for years that when Danaerys began to bleed, Viserys would find her a suitor. But the dust had barely settled over his grave when another loss struck them, the loss of Daenerys’ husband: Khal Drogo. Though Y/N had never much cared for the savage horse-lord, she cared for her sister and supported her while she grieved.
@andtheytoldustotellyouhello requested: “Tyrell!reader who marries oberyn cause him and willas are totally planning on Dany being queen?“
[Thanks for the request! Warning of suggestive teasing, but no actual smut.]
He found himself watching her again. The small lady from the Reach, too wrapped up in her flowers to notice the carnal way he eyed her. His bride to be. His quill had stalled on the page, frozen mid-letter. His gaze narrowed, eyeing the way her hips swayed as she walked. Maybe she did know that he was watching.
@future-ll-evans requested: “Rhaegar and Sister! Reader so he’s not stupid and doesn’t die”
Sibling Incest Warning!
{Sorry, this is a bit of a shorter one!}
In the five or so years since the two had been wed, Rhaegar had never seen his sister so fiercely angry. She’d turned her back on him, and was muttering quiet curses in their mother tongue, her cheeks flushed a deep red. Finally, she turned back to him.
“A Stark?” She demanded, shoving him harshly. “Honestly Rhaegar, what were you thinking?”
He was infuriatingly calm. “She’s beautiful, and I’m certain many men love her, the crown belonged to her.” He flashed a testy smile, keeping his tone pleasant.
@andtheytoldustotellyouhello requested “Or a Stark!reader x Willas tyrell where they get married before Robert dies and then she saves her sisters from the capital?”
[Thank you for the request!]
§
The Reach was no place for a Stark. Despite all the whispered encouragements and feather-light kisses her husband would give her, Y/N could be assured of this.
Starks belonged in the North, in the snow; in Winterfell.
Each morning the handmaidens would approach with a new gown, thin and form fitting. Each would be a piece of art, embroidered flowers trailing up the bodice, gold threaded needles. It was all astoundingly beautiful, but Y/N missed home. She missed her sisters and her brothers and her father and her mother. She missed the weight of a cloak over her shoulders, or the fur lined bedsheets that greeted her warmly each night.
@andtheytoldustotellyouhello requested “Could I request a Robb x lannister!reader where they get married before the show/serious starts and how they react to the king’s visit to winterfell?”
[Warning: Some references to sex]
[I’m struggling a bit with writing the sequel to Pride, so I might post a few one shots while I’m feeling inspired. Requests are still open, and totally encouraged!]
§
His fingers traced over the exposed skin of her shoulders, his lips pressing light kisses to her neck.
Y/N shifted slightly in her sleep, her eyes fluttering open, and she spared him a small smile, usually reserved just for her Stark husband. Pressing her face against his chest, she drew deep breaths, sunlight streaming in through the open window.
@future-ll-evans requested: “What about a Targaryen!Reader and Robb Stark? Early ally? Dany sends her sister and Barristan (because he ain’t dead to me) secretly to gain the northern allies.”
Warnings: sexual content, mentions of pre-marital sex?
(Sorry for the wait! Summer vacation is quite hectic for me, and my update scedule is going to be patchy for the rest of July, but to tide you over, here’s a Robb Stark!)
—
You had quite a few nightmares as a child. Not about the Rebellion, no, you were too young to remember that, but other dangers from Esos stuck in your mind clearly, and served as fuel for some night terrors. Your brother Viserys’ cruel hand, an old beggar snarling at you when you’d reached for the coins he’d dropped, loud and raucous storms that seemed to shake your bed.
None of it compared to waking up knowing you had to leave your sister and set sail for Westeros, possibly to be killed or to never return.
You ate in silence, and met Ser Barristan down by the docks, accompanied by your sister, who’d come to see you off. You exchanged an embrace, she wished you safe travels and walked back to her palace discreetly.
You had to take a small fishing boat, to avoid suspicion from passing ships or employees at the docks. Your sister had sent ahead letters to respectable families, alerting them of your incoming arrival. You planned to sail to the Bite, and work your way North, they had seceded from the Crown, and could benefit from a strong alliance- regardless of what side they had taken in the Rebellion.
—
After meeting with Lysa Arryn, and traveling through the Neck, you arrived at Winterfell, hoping to convince the King of the North to bend the knee to your sister, or at least agree not to take up arms against her. From what you’d been told by other nobles, if Robb Stark agreed to an alliance, the other Northern houses would fall in line.
Ser Barristan at your side, you approached the gates of the great fortress, heavy snow pummeling your personage as a blizzard raged. A small brigade rushed to receive you, offering to help you down from your horse and tend to your luggage. You were quickly ushered inside and seated beside a fire, and a few minutes later, the King of the North arrived to greet you.
Concern was immediately apparent as you rose to meet him, and he insisted you remained by the fire, eyeing your bluing skin and silently wondering if you’d catch cold. “I apologize for the lack of preparation, we didn’t think you would brave the blizzard, and frankly, I’m not sure you should have.”
You laughed a little quietly, glad the feeling was returning to the tips of your fingers. “I suppose I underestimated just how severe the storm would be, I am not quite used to this Winter business, you Northerns must wear such heavy cloaks.” You griped, pawing at your blue cloak which seemed to disappear under a heavy wind.
He chuckled in return, taking a seat beside you on the fur throw. There was a beat of silence between you too as the conversation settled, until eventually, he spoke. “What is it like? Out East, I mean.”
You thought for a second. “I haven’t really been anywhere else, we left Westeros when I was small, and I don’t remember it well. But, it’s warm. I’ve seen a lot of the coast in our travels, and the water seems a little bluer there.” You gave a fond and homesick smile, watching the flames flicker in the hearth. “There’s a lot more sand.” You offered, a bit dismissively. You glanced over, examining his features fully for the first time, begrudgingly impressed by the strong cut of his jaw.
Robb pretended not to notice you staring, and thought on how to continue the conversation. “Your name, it’s Y/N, correct?”
You gave a nod, inwardly pleased that he hadn’t pronounced it incorrectly like other northerner’s had. Something about their accent made Valyrian sound… oddly forced rather than the smooth transition of syllables- as you’d been taught. “Would you prefer Robb, or Lord Stark?” You responded, not wishing to offend.
He thought for a moment. “Robb.” He said, with decision. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for Lord Stark.”
You smiled in return, and turned back to the fire.
—
Your quill touched the parchment lovingly as you penned your sister’s name, before dipping your quill back in the ink, ignoring the presence reading over your shoulder.
Daenerys,
Thus far, my travels have been pleasant. I’ve been received well at all the castles I’ve visited, and the nobles have been nothing short of polite, in particular-
His lips pressed a soft kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder, as he brushed your hair back to better access the skin.
You attempted to ignore his teasing and continued to write.
-in particular, the Starks have been most gracious hosts and agreed to hold Ser Barristan and I a few more weeks until the weather settles. The winters this far North are brutal, I’ve never seen so much snow in my life! But, the castle is warm and-
He bit down quickly, before soothing the area with a brush of his tongue, continuing on a trail up your neck. “Take a break.” He murmured.
You attempted to brush him off again. “I have to finish this-”
His hand moved to the straps of your slip, slowly removing the left and then the right and taking your exposed breasts in his hands. “She can wait a few minutes.”
You dropped the quill and began to move from the chair, when he swept you off your feet and tossed you onto the bed, a wolfish grin on his face. It seemed as though he’d been only a hair away from ravaging you anyways, and was simply waiting for you to deliver yourself to him.
—
Daenerys had been particularly surprised to hear of your courtship, and more so, your plan to wed, but supported you none the less. Strategically, the move was perfect, and if he truly made you happy, there was no downside. She urged you to elope privately, for her presence was still not fully welcome in Westeros, and her army built slowly as she conquered more and more slaving cities, but supported your wishes to marry as soon as you could.
As her ascension picked up steam, the Lannisters made moves to counter her, unknowing that the seeds of her revolt had already been planted in Westeros, and that the North already planned to rally behind her when the time came.
The war was brewing, but in your marital bed, your alliances grew only stronger.
Brandon’s perception had left you meek for a few more hours, stunned that the stoic and honorable Stark had been bold enough to kiss the daughter of the Mad King, and to oust you for your ambition in the privacy of his chambers. And afterwards, the way he smiled, as though the two of you shared some grand secret, in full confidence that you wouldn’t rush to tell anyone.
Brandon had left you wanting after him like a lovesick teenager.
Besides your private panic, the preparation for the wedding continued, the Starks reluctantly agreeing to the union at the insistence of the King, and the promise of a new alliance between the two was enticing, to say the least.
Brandon had not since spoken to you, but he always gave you that smile, the one from his chambers, when no one else could see.
It was infuriatingly effective.
That was how you ended up in those same chambers, just past the stroke of midnight, dressed in nightclothes far from appropriate, doing your best to keep your posture relaxed as you heard him approaching.
@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested: “What if Ramsay has a legitimate sister that Roose is trying to marry off to a younger son, and Ramsay just keeps killing them?”
Warnings; (half) sibling incest, graphic description of violence, smut, sexual language, Ramsay Bolton?
You glanced out over your shoulder, barely peering around the corner as Ramsay’s hands began to trail up your skirt. You could feel his lips trailing up your neck, his nose dragging across your pulse point as he left wet kisses and quick bites along the sensitive flesh. “Careful,” you warned rather softly under your breath, “this isn’t a good spot for-” as you made a move to push off the wall, Ramsay pushed you back into place with quickness, a growl sounding in his lower throat, guttural.
“I’ll kill him. I’ll cut his heart out of his body and feed it to him on a silver platter, I’ll-” his voice was muffled by your skin, but it didn’t much matter. The words had their intended effect, and you were soon shivering in his arms.
andtheytoldustotellyouhello 