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16 March 2012 @ 11:57 pm
G A M E O F T H R O N E S K I N K M E M E  


RULES
- all characters must be from george r. r. martin's a song of ice and fire's series or the hbo adaption game of thrones
- leave a pairing in the comments, along with an accompanying kink - eg jaime/cersei, voyeurism, theon/robb, oral.
- KINK ONLY ;]
- graphics and fanart are also accepted
- no hate pleeease, we don't all love the same ships but let's not bash because of it :)
- multiple fills are encouraged

COMMENTS ARE NOW LOCKED
SEE: asoiafkinkmeme

 
 
 
(Anonymous) on March 23rd, 2012 07:29 am (UTC)
cat/cersei, cat doms, humiliation
(Anonymous) on March 23rd, 2012 07:33 am (UTC)
jon s./jeyne - trying to fill the void they left behind
oximore: Nimuehoximore on March 23rd, 2012 03:07 pm (UTC)
Theon/Robb – you left a hole in me (I still carry it)

Robb survives the red wedding, Theon is the one who dies before Robb get any explanations/excuses/revenge. There is no getting it right.
(bonus if Robb feels terrible/bad/guilty for mourning Theon/feeling empty because as a king he should be glad)




leah rebecca: Robb Starkbloodofpyke on March 23rd, 2012 09:30 pm (UTC)
ashes to ashes
He’s dead, they tell him. Flayed and broken and beaten, but dead. He doesn’t ask, but they tell him anyway, almost relishing the words, these Northmen who will always want for blood. Ramsay made him a pet, they say, and lived up to the Bolton name, and he’s dead too, the Bastard of the Dreadfort, but the important thing is Theon’s dead, and isn’t Your Grace pleased by these tidings?

He doesn’t answer, only sits there, fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword, fingers tangled in Grey Wind’s fur, until his men bow and scrape their way out the door, leaving behind only their words. He’s dead, Robb thinks, wondering if he should be as happy as they tell him to be. He’s dead, he thinks again, memories crowding in his mind. He’s dead, he thinks one more time, and he remembers the words falling from his lips, I want his head, he had ordered, and he wonders again how he should feel.

His eyes close and he sees Bran and Rickon, breathless, playing in the yard, and then he sees them dead, rotting, hoisted above the gates of the ruined Winterfell. He thinks of the way ice curled through his veins when he heard, the way that ice burned away once the news sunk in. He thinks of Theon, chained and wasting away in some dungeon cell, Ramsay smacking his thick lips as a knife worked away at him, wonders if this is justice, if this is what he wants.

The crown feels heavy on his head, and his hands reach up and grasp it, bringing it down to the table in front of him, and he turns it over and over in his hands, telling himself that he’s the king, that he should feel glad an enemy, two enemies, were rooted out and killed. Better them than me, he tells himself, better them than the rest of the North. He needs to think like a king, he tells himself, needs to be glad that it was only two lives in exchange for the North, for a victory.

It’s easy to tell himself that, harder to forget. He remembers Theon at Winterfell, remembers the feel of a heartbeat racing against his, remembers the feel of fingers laced with his so tightly he felt like they would break off. He remembers, and he sits there until the darkness creeps across the room and covers him.

He’s dead, he tells himself, it doesn’t matter, he’s dead, it’s over, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.

If he repeats it enough, he thinks, it will be fine, he will feel something, anything, he will be the king his men want him to be, and it will be fine.
Re: ashes to ashes - oximore on March 24th, 2012 10:49 pm (UTC) (Expand)
oximore: Nimuehoximore on March 23rd, 2012 05:42 pm (UTC)
Theon/Robb – dirty!talk – Voice fetishization

Sometimes Theon makes Robb come with only his voice and his words.
(Bonus: sometimes Theon doesn’t even do it on purpose)
(Anonymous) on May 2nd, 2012 09:28 am (UTC)
Re: Theon/Robb – dirty!talk – Voice fetishization
It Strikes a Chord - pt. 1

“Are you sure you aren’t coming?” The way he says it is laced with concern and that tiny hint of mockery and Robb can feel himself cling to the heavy furs draped over him. “Aye, I’ll hunt on the morrow,” he returned weakly, not daring to look directly to his ward’s eyes. He knew if he had, he would have felt the blush into his cheeks and Theon would know exactly why he had hauled the furs about him so quickly.

“I’ll wait and go with you tomorrow then,” he said it bitterly and yet still the words slid down Robb’s skin like velvet. “No!” He spluttered back, closing his eyes and pushing the coverings down toward his hips but only so far. Sturdy hands gripped the featherbed harshly and support his torso on tired arms. “I’ll go on the damned hunt. Just let me dress. I’ll be out before the hours done,” he sighed, his bare chest as Theon nodded, a smile slick on his lips, and left.

Robb’s body slid back to the bed, his eyes closed, the shudder rushing through him uncontrolled. He’d been holding it back the past several minutes and without that voice perhaps it might not have been necessary at all. But as he rolled the furs down further he only confirmed his suspicions. One hand reached down, tracing over his naked body before feeling the firm length between his legs. He sighed, willing it away, wishing he had not allowed the Ironborn entrance in the first place.

“He’ll be ready soon. He’s your King, you bent the knee, he’ll get on when he damn well pleases.” In that moment Robb might have killed Theon for the way his voice carried. It was strangling, bidding him do the unspeakable at the sound, and he resisted, his nostrils flaring lightly. But Theon was never known to quiet at the chance to bark orders. He was Ironborn, and proud. And Robb wondered if there wasn’t a reason he was so proud, shaking his head at his own lewd thoughts.

“If he asks you to bend over to pick up his sword, you’d do it. So you’ll stand here and wait till he’s finished and smile like an idiot when he walks in and looks over your pathetic arse,” Theon was too happy and Robb knew he was smiling despite the harsh orders. The way he’d said bend over had left the king practically begging, wishing Theon was here, whispering it to his ear so that Robb could turn an wipe that smile from his lips, crush them between his own. His cock twitched at the thought and he let his eyes slip closed.

“Feel good? Did you have some whore on your cock? Is that why you show up late with your breeches half laced? You’re positively filthy, you little manslut.” Gods, what Robb wouldn’t do to hear the thoughts in his head spoken on that tongue. That deliciously crude tongue. A moan escaped his lips, and Robb imagined what it was like to have Theon’s breath hot on his neck, desperate and wanting, spewing filthy words, calling Robb a whore, a manslut. His own fingers tugged hard around his cock, and he had to bite back the moan that ripped through him.

“Fuck you!” Theon’s voice rippled through him, more chiding than desperate and still Robb groaned. It played to every nerve he had, and he desperately sought some release through the friction of his palm. His cock was heavy in his hand, pulsing and hot, and Robb could practically see Theon smirking at him, his lips twisted in that cruel way, devouring him with his eyes. He’d say something witty, tell him what a big boy he’d turned out to be. Robb’s eyes rolled back when he listened to every filthy word his imaginary Theon spoke.
Re: Theon/Robb – dirty!talk – Voice fetishization - (Anonymous) on May 2nd, 2012 09:28 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Theon/Robb – dirty!talk – Voice fetishization - (Anonymous) on May 3rd, 2012 07:47 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Theon/Robb – dirty!talk – Voice fetishization - (Anonymous) on May 3rd, 2012 10:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 23rd, 2012 05:59 pm (UTC)
melisandre x stannis, shadow babies
(Anonymous) on March 23rd, 2012 06:54 pm (UTC)
renly/loras - they have sex the night of renly's marriage
oximore: Misfits - Simonoximore on March 23rd, 2012 07:24 pm (UTC)
Theon/Robb – prisoner of war
Their first meeting was on the battleground.
It should have been their last (it wasn't).
(could be on opposite sides /double agent (triple)/spy…)
bonus: rough sex & ill-timed feelings
oximore: Misfits - Simonoximore on March 23rd, 2012 10:28 pm (UTC)
Margaery/Theon - Theon/Robb - Margaery/Theon/Robb (& permutations)

She’s a lenient wife; she also a queen, she knows what she wants (or: Margaery doesn’t mind sharing as long as she gets some too).
(bonus: king!Theon & king!Robb – widely non-canon anyway)
Sarah: Jaime/Sansaiorwen107 on March 23rd, 2012 10:43 pm (UTC)
Jaime/Sansa are two of the few survivors/needing to repopulate Westeros after the war with the Others
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 23rd, 2012 10:52 pm (UTC)
!!!

Gurrrrl, what have you done?!
(no subject) - iorwen107 on March 23rd, 2012 10:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
juhlillithjuhlillith on March 23rd, 2012 10:59 pm (UTC)
Arya/Gendry - biting, scratching
dizzy_whoredizzy_whore on April 1st, 2012 11:24 am (UTC)
You See Nothing pt1
Hope this is good! Was lazy and used Italian=/= Braavosi
----

He makes her forget this life the minute she tells him to rip off her dress.

He complies, willing as always, tearing away the stitches that bind her skin. With a smirk she watches as the dress pools on the floor, golden thread dull in the light of the forge. Dirty, like her, like the girl underneath. The true girl, not the one Jon is parading around in front of the men in perfumed velvet. The girl who will push her lover to his cot and straddle him, bite his lip till she tastes blood, and will return back to the feast like nothing has happened. She'll carry the secret between her legs and smile. The ruined maiden of Winterfell, she thinks. That what they'll call her. But they'll call her the she-wolf as well, she thinks. That's what matters.

She likes the smell of the forge, the musty furs they cover themselves in and the burning coals that hit the back of her throat. But most of all she likes the sweat, the smell of worn leather, the taste of battle. And it's the taste of him, too. Earthy and strong, almost bitter.

She thinks of how Edric would smell in between his legs, like flowers, clean. He'd pass a song between his lips about her smile or her breasts. And it'd be just how it was before, when she was a little girl and she felt like she was approaching a slow death, when her life would be nothing more than an echo of a tale of some great man. The thought drifts over her again, but he sees it.

He is good at seeing past her masks, her training. Sometimes she will just stare into the distance, motionless for hours, not thinking or feeling anything, unaware of the passage of time. She can see his worry when she does that, but she doesn't want his worry. She just wants the few moments they can ever risk together to vanish completely from this life she doesn't want, this life she has never wanted.

It's cold at the wall, but the forge is the exception. Sometimes she imagines hell in the fires, the fires that Gendry and the others stare into every night, watching the flames dance. She wonders if that is the reason he took to the Fire God so easily, because the flames have never held any fears for him. But in the night it is only her name that slips through his lips like a prayer.

He always sleeps after they've been together, but she never does. She is too busy listening to the sounds of the Wall: the groan of the ice, the shattering winds. But moreso she listens for footsteps, the sheath of a dagger. She can't be found here, she knows it, because she is Arya Stark now, and Arya Stark doesn't belong in a forge with a bastard boy.

Her breath hitches as the wind rattles through the ice, whistling. She wants to wake him up again, to tell him to listen, to listen to how the world was changing around them. But he won't. All he needed was the rhythm of his hammer on steel...and her.

His arm extends to where she is sat, bringing her in closer. She doesn't understand him when he's like this, when he wants her to be near for any other reason than desire. The same boy who moments earlier would grab her and twist into her like she was made of paper, who would groan as she scratched his back until he bled, and would treat her like she really was-- a web of sensations and frustrations and not some delicate flower whimpering as a man did his business on top of her, motionless and unfeeling.

You See Nothing pt2 - dizzy_whore on April 1st, 2012 11:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: You See Nothing pt2 - juhlillith on April 1st, 2012 04:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: You See Nothing pt2 - crogos on April 1st, 2012 04:31 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: You See Nothing pt2 - hi_mimi on April 2nd, 2012 11:26 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: You See Nothing pt2 - dizzy_whore on April 2nd, 2012 11:33 pm (UTC) (Expand)
fauxkarenfauxkaren on March 23rd, 2012 11:04 pm (UTC)
Jon/Sansa, hurt/comfort- Sansa is lady of Winterfell and Jon arrives injured. She nurses him back to health and while doing so, ~sexiness~ ensues.
jal80: Jonjal80 on March 24th, 2012 09:29 pm (UTC)
Um, so I love EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PROMPT. Give me a day or so, and I am ON IT.
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on March 25th, 2012 01:00 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - willowrune on March 28th, 2012 08:48 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - jal80 on April 1st, 2012 12:54 am (UTC) (Expand)
oximore: Nimuehoximore on March 23rd, 2012 11:33 pm (UTC)
Theon/Robb – miscommunication

They talk to each other, try to come across as clear as they can, to be understood, but they always miss, and the most important stay unsaid.
凯茜kathy~☆: M'gann & Superboy [i save him]katakokk on March 24th, 2012 07:32 am (UTC)
Re: Theon/Robb – miscommunication
Oh my god even this prompt is giving me feeeeeeelings.
Give me words to explain you how I feel. - eccentricsimply on March 25th, 2012 01:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 23rd, 2012 11:58 pm (UTC)
Jaime/Sansa, golden fist(ing) LOL. JUST JOKING.

Really though, Jaime/Sansa, he helps her escape the Vale, they go to the Free Cities.
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 24th, 2012 04:40 am (UTC)
The Lotus Eaters: Part One

The Free Cities- aptly named, indeed. Sansa steps onto the terrace of the open-air pavilion, the sun warm on her bare arms and the gentle breeze teasing at the wisps of hair hanging loose around her face. Free....free.

Seduction is the Lyseni stock and trade, and Sansa finds herself taken in almost instantly. The air, thick and warm, tastes of clove and jasmine and myrrh and orange, and the sounds of soft laughs and ecstatic sighs cling and linger and meld into a melodious, enchanting hum. As she weaves her way through the market, hips swaying in insouciant circles (for that is the way here, it’s what all the women do), she steals a glance across the water- the coast of Westeros appears in the very far distance, just an ugly, jagged black line interrupting the blue of the sea and the blue of the sky.

The sight restores her to reality, and she clasps her hand over the little dagger girded at her thigh, the blade still stained with the blood of...

She shakes her head- her newly-dyed red hair whips against her cheeks- and forces the thought down. She can put the past away, lock it somewhere deep inside; she’s proven herself capable of that much.

A pair of courtesans pass by, escorted by two silver-haired merchants. Sansa watches as one of the women smiles a secret sort of smile- Sansa knows it well, for Alayne was an expert- and places her hand on her companion’s arm, laughing a low, knowing laugh; an erudite laugh, a cavalier laugh.

Sansa tosses her hair again and practices the laugh, her thoughts ringing through her head in a similarly ironic tone-

Petyr is dead. Sweetrobin is dead. My family is dead.

Westeros is dead.


She waits for the sting, and when it does not come, she sighs with relief and continues on her way.

A flash of violet-red catches her eye, and she approaches a fruit stand and purchases a ripe, beautiful pomegranate, heavy and swollen with juice. As she proceeds toward the pavilion, she feels the eyes roaming over her body- she’s grown quite accustomed to it now. She knows what they believe her to be, and she’s almost too amused to be offended. In her wispy, clinging gown, arms bare save a few loose golden bracelets, her hair streaming wild down her back and over her shoulders, she certainly looks the part of a pleasure slave.

For one alarming, fleeting moment, Sansa considers what her mother would say if she could see her now.

She steps into the pavilion and slips off her sandals, the carpets soft beneath her feet.

(The place reeks of money- somehow there is always money- Lannisters shit gold, after all, isn’t that what they say?)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 24th, 2012 04:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 24th, 2012 10:40 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 24th, 2012 03:00 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 24th, 2012 09:08 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 25th, 2012 12:37 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - iorwen107 on March 25th, 2012 04:26 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 25th, 2012 06:39 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - iorwen107 on March 25th, 2012 06:43 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 24th, 2012 12:01 am (UTC)
Catelyn/Ned, wedding night, Catelyn already gave her maidenhead to Brandon before he died. IDEK. The heart wants what the hearts wants!
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 24th, 2012 01:01 am (UTC)
Tyrion/Myrcella- she's the best of both her parents
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 24th, 2012 01:36 am (UTC)
BLAME JORDAN FOR THIS FOR AWAKENING THIS IN ME
theon/robb, au post-white walkers invasion. interpret how their fates changed in the events leading up to it whichever way you will~
bee_starkbee_stark on March 24th, 2012 04:05 am (UTC)
Sansa/Harrold Hardyng; playing demure/Sansa tops
(Deleted comment)
that's how i'm programmed to function: hibari/chrome; some tyl lovin'xperfect_lines on April 30th, 2012 05:53 pm (UTC)
oh god THIS PROMPT pls make it happen
Lindseybitterboots on March 24th, 2012 06:51 am (UTC)
jon/robb au robb rides to the aid of the Wall instead of Stannis
凯茜kathy~☆katakokk on March 24th, 2012 07:35 am (UTC)
Theon/Robb, h/c post-Whispering Wood
oximore: Nimuehoximore on March 24th, 2012 09:49 am (UTC)
Sansa/Theon, Jeyne Poole/Theon & Robb/Theon – Voyeurism

Sansa sometimes goes to the river to watch Theon swimming in it naked.
Things get rather awkward when she stumbles on Jeyne doing pretty much the same thing. And then they catch a glimpse of Robb…
(bonus: swimming naked sometimes ends up in sexscapades when some pretty thing join & the three voyeurs know it well)

(ikek)
凯茜kathy~☆: Skandar [don't i dazzle you]katakokk on March 24th, 2012 05:13 pm (UTC)
Re: Sansa/Theon, Jeyne Poole/Theon & Robb/Theon – Voyeurism
I love this prompt. Seconded!
a girl with kaleidoscope eyes: amy hairporna_cherrytree on March 24th, 2012 12:20 pm (UTC)
asha/robb au, femdom, asha takes him as "salthusband", robb's skeptical
oximore: Nimuehoximore on March 24th, 2012 04:17 pm (UTC)
yes please.
(Anonymous) on March 25th, 2012 12:24 am (UTC)
loras/renly - food play (with peaches ;D )
moofieloumoofielou on March 25th, 2012 01:02 am (UTC)
Jon/Arya

Arya visits Jon at the Wall and sexiness ensues.
Myramidnightblack07 on March 25th, 2012 01:03 am (UTC)
Jon/Sansa + in which Tyrion (who is still Sansa's husband) is an unseen voyeur...

(IDEK where this came from but there you have it lol)