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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

 
 
 
the queen of hearts: get out of my gardenphoe21 on March 17th, 2012 01:03 am (UTC)
Arianne/Nymeria, cunnilingus
Mariaeccentricsimply on March 17th, 2012 01:04 am (UTC)
Jon/Robb/Theon, dubcon.
naylas2naylas2 on March 18th, 2012 12:05 am (UTC)
yes please
(Deleted comment)
Maria: Morgana4eccentricsimply on March 17th, 2012 02:23 am (UTC)
It wasn't jealousy.
Theon was already on the edge of his nerves by then.

He wasn’t jealous, of course not, how ridiculous would be if him, Theon Greyjoy, was jealous of a bastard. No, it wasn’t about feelings or care, it was belonging questions. It was the fact that Robb was his, not Jon’s. And even though he was being rough with Robb and marking him in places no one else could ever reach, the fact that Robb spent more time with Jon than with him still bothered Theon more than he wished that it did. The gods knew he was being pathetic, that Jon wasn’t fucking Robb like he was, that Jon didn’t get to do the things he did to Robb, but Theon felt this necessity of showing Jon that no matter how hard he tried, Robb would never be his.

“Theon, what are you doing?” Robb asked, without pulling away while Theon pushed him against the wall and started kissing his neck. “We are in the middle of the hallway, someone could find us.”

“Let them find.” He whispered back, knowing that this was exactly his intention.

“But Theon-

Theon shut Robb with his mouth, sucking on his lower lip before he invaded Robb’s mouth with his tongue, his hands moving to grab Robb’s ass. Robb moaned on the kiss, the sound going all the way down to Theon’s cock and he couldn’t help but move forward, thrusting slightly against Robb’s crotch. He was going to fuck him in the middle of the hallway, not because it was some kink of his, but because he knew that the door next to them lead to Jon’s room.

Without pulling back from the kiss, Theon took off his trousers, his hands moving towards Robb’s, getting a grip on his dick and stroking it slowly. Robb moaned loudly and Theon smirked; yes, do all the noise that you can. For sure Robb thought that Theon was being moved purely by lust, but he was conscious of every single thing he was doing and the reasons behind it – exactly the same way he was conscious that Robb couldn’t know about them in a million years, otherwise he was doomed.

He took a step back only to turn Robb around so that he was facing the walls. Theon suck on two of his fingers before shoving Robb’s pants down and pushing them inside his tight hole, earning moans from the red headed boy. Theon kissed his nape while he pulled the fingers out, not caring about waiting and being patience anymore. By the corner of his eye, he saw that the door to Jon’s room was opened and that curious eyes stared them. Theon grabbed his own dick, showing it the way to Robb’s hole. He thrusted once, twice, before he pulled entirely out and pushed in again, making Robb gasp.

“You’re so tight, Robb.” He whispered against Robb’s neck before he turned his head to the side and stared Jon’s eyes. “And you’re mine.”

Jon kept the stare for a moment before walking back to his room and closing the door loudly enough to make Robb open his eyes and turn his head to the side so he could look at Theon.

“What was that?” Without answering Theon shut him up by thrusting and hitting that one spot that made Robb see stars.

And now he was sure it was clear who owned Robb Stark.


Edited at 2012-03-17 02:24 am (UTC)
Re: It wasn't jealousy. - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 08:39 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: It wasn't jealousy. - halighfataliter on April 5th, 2012 01:36 pm (UTC) (Expand)
the queen of heartsphoe21 on March 17th, 2012 01:24 am (UTC)
catelyn/ned, fucking in the snow
fsfitzgeraldsfsfitzgeralds on March 19th, 2012 01:53 am (UTC)
bride of winter
It's been several months that they've now been at Winterfell, and it has been a very long time since Catelyn has felt so at peace. In the past years there has always been some worry, something to fear- the stupid duel between Petyr and Brandon, the death of her betrothed, her marriage to a stranger, concern for the precious child she carried and her relentless wondering whether or not his father would ever return.

(the rest here)
Re: bride of winter - mockyrfears on March 19th, 2012 02:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: bride of winter - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 02:19 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: bride of winter - phoe21 on March 19th, 2012 04:22 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: bride of winter - fields195 on March 20th, 2012 05:09 am (UTC) (Expand)
mes dents brillantes et moi.: ∞ if i were queen.blackcigars on March 17th, 2012 01:30 am (UTC)
Tywin x Catelyn - rough sex, unbecoming of a lord
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 01:33 am (UTC)
theon/sansa, to get at robb
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 24th, 2012 07:05 am (UTC)
i'll take those sweet lips and i'll deliver
Sansa grows into a lady in Winterfell, her childhood and dreams never spoiled by the cruelty of a monstrous boy king. She only awakens to the real world slowly, as if coming out of a deep, wonderful dream as sunlight edges into the room. The dreams still curl around her, the fading warmth of a bed and furs, shifting and reforming into the dresses and furs she drapes around her shoulders.

Theon grows into a more sullen ward. Hostage, more in truth. He is bitter and sulky but he keeps up his smiles. The years of living away from Pyke fades his memory of the Ironborn, washing them away like the waves crashing and ripping down the rocks and stones of Pyke. The whole of Westeros laughs at him and Theon laughs back at it, or else he’ll go mad.


the rest here

cannot write short fills to save my life!!
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 01:33 am (UTC)
theon(reek)/sansa, comfort
leah rebecca: Sansa Starkbloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 03:21 am (UTC)
remember when
It was biting at him, the cold, and he shivered under his furs, imaged his bones poking through and rattling along with him, and then he heard footsteps, light and soft, and he stopped thinking, only looked up. Sansa, he remembered, and for a half a beat he tried to find a rhyme for her--you had to know your name--but then he remembered, and he looked at her eyes and tried to smile for her, tried to show that he was still Theon.

“They tell me you never killed my brothers,” she said, voice cool and smooth. His head shook, and he tried to find words, but couldn’t. It didn’t matter, though, she was looking down at him and her mouth was moving again. “They also tell me you never destroyed Winterfell.” A beat, and then she was kneeling next to him, skirts pooling on the stone, and her voice sounded broken when she spoke again. “Why?” she asked, and he didn’t know if she was asking about Bran and Rickon, about Winterfell, about Robb, about the war, so he kept silent and moved a hand to her shoulder, thinking at how small it looked against her body.

***

She was crying against her pillow, the tears running hot down her cheeks, and her fists were beating at the bed, and he sat at the foot of her bed, and didn’t know what to make of it.

“It’ll be okay,” he tried, his voice rasping and frail.

It seemed to work; she sat up, her hands running at her eyes. “I know,” she told him, and when she turned her gaze on him, he shuddered; she looked like Lady Catelyn just there, like ice and the North and vengeance.

“Right,” he said, his fingers worrying at the hem of his shirt.

It was a moment before she spoke again, this girl queen, this ruler of the north (but she wasn’t a girl anymore, he had to remind himself, but when he looked at her, he still saw the little girl whose eyes lit up at stories). “Remember when,” she started, her voice thick, “remember when the snows fell so thick we were buried inside for days, and Bran climbed out a window and came back with snowballs for us? And we made such a mess in the great hall, all laughing and covered in snow, and mother made us clean it right up?”

He did, bits and pieces, and he smiled a broken smile for her. “Remember when,” he answered, “remember when Arya was learning to ride horseback, and Robb told her that her horse had been a unicorn, only it had its horn sawed off, and she made Bran hunt for it in the stables with her?”

She had laughed at that, her eyes sparkling suddenly, and he found himself liking that, liking that he could make her smile with a memory.

They stayed up until first light talking, the dawn creeping into the room as they sprawled on the bed. Remember when remember when remember when.
Re: remember when - flwrpwr_vampyre on March 17th, 2012 01:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: remember when - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 08:41 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: remember when - 0cclumency on March 18th, 2012 10:52 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: remember when - oximore on March 22nd, 2012 07:20 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: remember when - lil_evil_1 on March 23rd, 2012 11:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
the queen of heartsphoe21 on March 30th, 2012 12:34 am (UTC)
Theon kisses Sansa that cold summer morning in the godswood, and afterward she runs, even though she wants to stay. He leaves a bruise where no one can see it. He digs his thumbs so deeply into the nape of her neck as he kisses her that the skin turns tender and blossoms purple beneath the surface. She can feel it there even when she doesn’t finger it, but her fingers keep flitting to it throughout the day, pressing, rubbing. She winces and sighs, and her sister catches her. Sansa smiles and pretends to untangle a knot in her long auburn hair. Arya rolls her eyes – her own braids are a hopeless mess and have been for days– and Sansa is relieved, even though she knows the bruise is hidden. All day she runs that kiss over in her mind as she strokes the sensitive spot at the top of her spine.

Theon is waiting for her in the evening, and his smile is so wolfish, she forgets he’s not a Stark. He’s always been in her family’s halls, since before she was born, but she’s never seen him look at her this way before. His cheeks are flushed from riding and he’s still wearing his furs and his sword at his hip. He stands there brazenly, smirking, in Sansa’s chambers, where he should never be. Sansa knows he’s looking right through her and seeing that bruise. She shivers, even though she always keeps her chambers warm, and her hand goes back to that troublesome spot. Still she leans against the door, pushing it closed, and she doesn’t tell him to leave.

Theon’s grip on her shoulders is tight. Those eager fingers dig in again, and Sansa can feel the blood vessels break. She squirms against him, not to run, but to get closer, and her hungry lips find his, break his smile. Kissing him sends a flush all through Sansa’s body. His hands are steady, his tongue is sure, but her body is slippery and hot, and she’s hard to hold on to. Theon grips her around the waist, one arm snaking around her back to grab her hip, lifting her off her feet. With the other hand he reaches down to undo his breeches. He doesn’t need to look. He keeps kissing her hard, on the neck, on the cheeks, on those white shoulders, now mottled purple. Sansa wriggles out of her smallclothes, whimpering.

She’s a maid, but she isn’t the lady her sister thinks she is. Theon pulls back for a moment to gaze into her eyes and she gives him her own wolfish smile. She bucks her hips forward hard into his, and he gasps as little. She holds them there, bone pressing against bone, his cock pinned against the heat of her cunt. She’s claimed him then, left her own bruise on his hips, and she bites his lip for another as she lowers herself gently onto his cock. Theon slams her back into the door as she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. They both cry out then, an animal sound, mingled pain, pleasure, and harsh laughter.

When it’s done, Sansa surveys the damage. Sweat cools on her skin, darkened with bruises, and there’s a smear of maiden’s blood on her thigh. She rubs the twin bruises on her hips as Theon kisses her neck, and she smiles. They’ll all still be hidden beneath her winter furs.
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - phoe21 on March 30th, 2012 06:41 pm (UTC) (Expand)
life is not a song: pic#115616649glasslights on March 17th, 2012 01:38 am (UTC)
jaime/cersei; cunnilingus
life is not a songglasslights on March 17th, 2012 01:40 am (UTC)
older!arya/gendry; arya on top/being the dominant one idk just gimme
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on March 19th, 2012 10:57 pm (UTC)
to knives, to daggers, to claws
She was drunk, or close enough, and Gendry was giggling at some lame home video show hosted by that hug-crazed weirdo from Full House. She snapped her fingers in front of Gendry’s face, bringing him out of whatever haze he’d fallen into. “Hello? We were supposed to be playing a game and it’s your turn to drink, idiot.”

And then Gendry was turning his grin on her, and she wanted to tear her hair out, wanted to tear his hair out. “Stupid fucker,” she mumbled as she kissed him, tangling her hands in his hair, anything to wipe that stupid grin off his face. It took him a minute to respond--he was always a bit slow on the uptake--but then he was grabbing her shoulders and kissing her back, and fuck what was he doing with his tongue?

Gendry’s hands slipped down to the small of her back, pressing her against him until his heartbeat mixed with hers, and she climbed on top of him, untangling from his mouth, from his hair, long enough to slip his shirt over his head, to pull hers off. She kicked her jeans off and shoved Gendry’s down, and then it was skin on skin, all flushed and feverish and too close too hot, but she kept going, kept pushing.

She could feel Gendry underneath her, in her, and she bit back a moan, turning it into a savage kind of kiss, smashing her tongue into his mouth and dragging her nails across his skin until he was biting back a moan of his own. Her heart was racing, and she could hear her blood pumping, and her mouth moved to his neck, to his collarbone, and she bit at those too, leaving red blossoms in her wake. She could feel Gendry’s heart beating too, underneath her fingertips on his chest, and her hands stilled on him for a moment, then turned to daggers, to knives, to claws, and he was hissing as the blood pricked on his skin, as she bent and kissed the droplets away, teeth scratching at the tenderness.

“Fuck,” Gendry was muttering, hands moving to her hips, trying to guide her, but she slapped his hands away, rolled her hips until she thought she might break apart, but still she wanted more more more.

And then it was over, and Arya’s breathing was ragged, full of spurts and kicks, and she rolled off of him, stretching out on the couch, glancing up at him through half-lowered lashes.

“I guess that’s it for the game then?” he wanted to know, and she almost smacked him. That was the game, stupid, she wanted to tell him, and you just lost, or won, or tied, I don’t fucking know. But her hands had already found her glass, and her mouth was already full of whiskey, so she settled on just kicking him square in the leg.
Re: to knives, to daggers, to claws - joaniemaloney on March 19th, 2012 11:22 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: to knives, to daggers, to claws - breve on March 19th, 2012 11:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
the edge of all that you know, 1 of 2 - honey_wheeler on March 20th, 2012 04:01 am (UTC) (Expand)
the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - honey_wheeler on March 20th, 2012 04:02 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - breve on March 20th, 2012 05:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - dizzy_whore on March 20th, 2012 12:01 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - crogos on March 20th, 2012 01:00 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - juhlillith on March 21st, 2012 12:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the edge of all that you know, 2 of 2 - pinupvalentine on April 9th, 2012 07:54 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Junojuno_chan on March 17th, 2012 01:42 am (UTC)
Ned/Catelyn, cunnilingus
bela0103bela0103 on March 17th, 2012 01:43 am (UTC)
Domeric Bolton/Lyanna Stark, furry
Sternflammendensternflammenden on March 17th, 2012 11:19 pm (UTC)
I think I might give this a go. Is it OK if this is a modern AU?
(no subject) - bela0103 on March 17th, 2012 11:20 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - sternflammenden on March 18th, 2012 02:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - bela0103 on March 18th, 2012 02:45 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - sternflammenden on March 18th, 2012 02:46 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - bela0103 on March 18th, 2012 02:50 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - lydzi on March 19th, 2012 11:25 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Domeric/Lyanna, furry/modern AU - sternflammenden on March 20th, 2012 12:37 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Anonymous) on March 17th, 2012 01:52 am (UTC)
dom!Robb/sub!Theon, bdsm.
Devindevymel12 on March 17th, 2012 01:54 am (UTC)
Val/Jon - oral
(Anonymous) on March 17th, 2012 01:58 am (UTC)
Ned/Catelyn in Petyr's brothel - with Petyr watching
Junojuno_chan on March 18th, 2012 11:40 pm (UTC)
(my Petyr is a sick mofo IDK)

those traces left behind

A moment, she asked, and a moment he allowed, for who is he to refuse Catelyn Tully? And if she is fool enough to think that he would have locked doors with no way to see inside, in his own business, in especially a business of this…variety…then he shall certainly not be discourteous enough as to disillusion her. Stark may be too honorable to ask for a bedchamber but he is not too honorable to send his wife leagues away without a goodbye, it seems.

His mouth on hers, Stark lifts her onto the desk, hands sliding familiarly along her thighs to push up her skirts. Petyr brushes the tip of his tongue to his lips at the sight of her bare skin, still pale and smooth as those days in Riverrun when she would rise from her bath, unmindful of his eyes even then, she never seems to see him. His cock twitches at the thought, even as he seethes at the idea, at the sight, of Ned Stark putting his hands on her, of her letting him, her face flushed with arousal.

Cat is shameless and wanton, the way she is in his dreams, spreading her legs to let Stark step between them, reaching for the laces of his breeches but she fumbles, unable to manage through the thick bandages that wrap her wounds. He helps her, placing her hands on his back and unlacing himself before pressing her back onto the desk, her red hair spread like a bloodstain across the surface as she wraps a leg around his hip.

Petyr imagines his desk will smell of her when they’ve finished, and it is that thought that leads him to take himself in hand; he can practically breathe the scent now. His hips instinctively buck at Cat’s sharp moan, and he can almost pretend it is not at Stark’s hand slipping back up her thigh, under her gown to touch her.

Cat’s head is tilted back, her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly as her breath comes rapidly, and it is his eyes and Stark’s eyes both on her face, wanting, it is he and Stark both who let out a groan at the sight of her. Petyr curses himself, stay quiet, do you wish to ruin everything, bad enough that this thing is not dead as it is, a constant thorn, his scars a constant reminder of what he has done to possess this woman and she is still not his.

Her hands lie uselessly on Stark’s back as he moves, Petyr can see the tips of her fingers twitch in her desire to touch. She is helpless, he could kill her if he wished it, he thinks almost idly, and the thought sends a shot of arousal through him like an arrow, Catelyn beneath him, his hand pressing to her white throat, fear and not condescending pity in those lovely eyes of hers (please don’t kill him, he’s just a boy and it would grieve me to see him die). He would not truly hurt her, would not need to, but he would leave a bruise and she would know then that he could, know his power, know he is not some plaything from Riverrun, and Petyr bites back a moan at the thought (he remembers this time, the need for silence).

Of course the noble Eddard Stark would never dream such a thing, Petyr thinks bitterly, Stark’s hand ghosts along the curve of her neck and down to cup her breast, his lips tracing her skin along the neckline of her gown, his breath harsh against her, and it is a waste, she is wasted on this northman with his lofty ideals with honor and his determination to join his brother in an early grave.

He could burst in on them now, now would be ideal as he sees Catelyn’s thigh tremble, her leg tighten around him, and he throbs at the thought of Stark’s face, of Cat spread vulnerable for him across the desk, as whorish as any girl in his establishment.

But no, he cannot risk such boldness, not yet, and the moment is lost anyway when Cat gasps against the side of Stark’s neck and he feels his own seed pool warmly in his hand at the sound. Stark is soon to follow but Petyr feels an absurd pleasure that he is last, best get used to it, Lord Eddard.

Cat smiles at her husband almost coyly when he presses his lips to her jaw before gently pulling back and helping her sit back up, she thinks they have a secret and Petyr could laugh at the foolish oblivion of them, they don’t understand that there are no secrets in King’s Landing.

That there are eyes everywhere.
(no subject) - (Anonymous) on March 18th, 2012 11:50 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 02:14 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - embossedsilver on March 18th, 2012 11:52 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 02:22 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 18th, 2012 11:53 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 02:23 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 19th, 2012 12:16 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 02:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - sternflammenden on March 19th, 2012 03:44 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 04:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - fsfitzgeralds on March 19th, 2012 06:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 12:03 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - misstopia on March 19th, 2012 05:33 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 08:09 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - blackcigars on March 19th, 2012 10:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 20th, 2012 12:57 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - fields195 on March 20th, 2012 04:40 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 20th, 2012 04:23 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on March 20th, 2012 05:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 20th, 2012 04:25 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 22nd, 2012 12:30 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 22nd, 2012 09:26 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Linndechir: baratheon2linndechir on March 17th, 2012 02:21 am (UTC)
Stannis/Jon: power play
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 02:38 am (UTC)
Jon/Ygritte + swordplay
the queen of heartsphoe21 on April 4th, 2012 03:29 am (UTC)
The red haired wildling leads her black haired lover into Gendel’s cave with a torch in her fist, a sword at her hip, and a laugh in her throat. They’ve been together half a hundred times now, but Ygritte has something else in mind this time. She wants to show him that she’s wildling to the bone. She takes him deep down, where no one will think to find them, where the walls are wet and the torchlight glimmers slick against them. Under the earth, she isn’t afraid of the dark. She can be with him here, alone, and only Gendel’s children will see, but they will never tell.

When she stops and sets the torch down, Jon grabs her from behind, snaking his arm around her waist, and he buries his face in her hair, her lucky hair. The other hand finds its way through all her layers of fur and skin to find warm flesh beneath the laces of her breeches. Ygritte almost forgets what she brought him here for, as his fingers brush the hair on her mound, and she turns her head so his lips can find her neck.

“I want you,” he murmurs against her ear, and his warm breath makes her shiver against him.

“If you want me so bad, you’ll have to beg for it.”

She squirms out of his grasp and spins around. His surprise allows her to knock him off his feet, and she takes advantage of it, pinning him to the ground with her strong legs and one hand that holds his wrists above his head. He laughs, startled, and she kisses him hard on his full lips, nipping, sucking, out for blood. Jon gasps, which only eggs her on. She draws the sword from the scabbard at her waist. It’s a borrowed blade, one that would break in a second against his Longclaw, but it will serve. Jon’s eyes are wide and his body tenses, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch when she lays the cold steel against his cheek. Her hands are steady and deliberate as she removes his leather jerkin and then slides the blade beneath his tunic, ripping the fabric away from him. He shudders against the sensation, but she can feel his cock harden beneath her, and the heat growing between her own thighs.

She scrapes the blade dully against his skin, her eyes glinting with a fierce wildness in the torchlight. She traces a nipple, runs it lightly over his ribs, and then follows the path with her eager tongue. He struggles against her, trying to free his hands to return the touch, but she holds them down. Then Ygritte laughs and sits up, removing her clothes with a wicked grin. Hands free, Jon rises to meet her, running his hands down her spine, kissing her breasts, but she stops him with a palm to the chest. Her sword in hand again, she grinds her hips against his and receives a moan in response. She holds the sword under his chin.

“I want you,” Jon says roughly. “Stop it.”

She throws her hair back, brazen and naked as her name day, and slides the tip of the sword down the length of his torso, to the top of his breeches. Angrily, Jon knocks the sword out of her hands and she laughs delightedly as he pushes her onto the ground. He lays the sword across her stomach and roughly takes her thighs in his arms, forcing her legs apart. She shudders and groans as he buries his face between her white thighs, hands gripping her hard, squeezing and scratching. She twists as she comes, and the sound of her cries is swallowed up by the echoing clatter of steel on stone.
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on April 4th, 2012 08:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - luna_plath on April 24th, 2012 07:40 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 18th, 2012 05:24 am (UTC)
The King and Queen In-Waiting
found here
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 05:34 am (UTC)
Cersei/Rhaegar, gold and silver
leah rebecca: Theon Greyjoybloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 05:52 am (UTC)
Jon C/Theon - close enough
peachesandsexpeachesandsex on March 19th, 2012 03:28 am (UTC)
come and go, without a word
He had arrived, unannounced, to Pyke not even a fortnight ago, his answers to iron blades at his throat being long, cold stares and demands to meet their newly appointed queen, unafraid and unyielding. Queen Asha met him after a few days of ignoring him, trying to keep things on her terms, and Theon saw the man with the red hair first on a cold morning, noticing the weariness in his eyes and the hard-set line of his mouth.

cont. here
leah rebecca: Sansa Starkbloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 05:53 am (UTC)
Theon/Sansa - first time
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » if I look back I am losttrysts on March 19th, 2012 01:33 am (UTC)
how callous my heart grew [theon x sansa] 1/2
She comes to him, and that is important. Or perhaps it’s inconsequential—they might have ended up here no matter what, with her standing in the shadows, watching him through frosted eyes as the whore picks up her discarded gown. Sansa Stark smiles like summer, and smells like spring, but there is no denying that her heart is Stark—there is winter in her veins.

“Leave us,” she commands softly, and they stand in silence. Around them, Winterfell breathes and Theon thinks of Robb, asleep in his furs, and of Eddard Stark and wicked, biting Ice. Of Joffrey Baratheon, come to claim his bride. He never imagined Sansa would the instrument of his demise.

“I saw you once in the wolfswood,” she says, and Theon knows. He had thought he was alone, and when he had discovered little Sansa Stark peering at him through the trees, eyes wide and face pale and cheeks flushed, he had ignored it. He’s not an honorable man, but Robb is as close to a brother as he will have and Ned Stark—yes, even Ned Stark—all he knows of a father. He was not an honorable man, but he can honor them.

“You should go back to your room, Lady Sansa,” he says simply. “Dream of fine princes and summer-drenched beaches. I’m no knight.”

“I know,” she answers just as simply. She steps closer to him. He’s naked and makes no move to cover himself. She lays a hand upon his chest. “But perhaps I want to understand—understand what I won’t have.”

He curls a hand against her wrist, hard enough to grind bones together. “Go,” he says. “Away.”

“No,” Sansa Stark says, and kisses him.

His fingers tangle in the heavy fabric of her gown, and he thinks he will push her away. Except he draws in explicably closer, as if he can do nothing else. That day in the wolfswood has haunted him, and in his greatest shame and darkness moments he’d wondered what would have happened if she had stepped forward, into the water, if she had touched him, put her red soft mouth on his cock. He had spilled his seed into his hand thinking about it, and had colored with hot, slick shame.

Theon’s fist closes in her hair, and the bed is suddenly too far away. He anchors her against the wall, lifting her. Soft, heavy fabrics brush across her knuckles as he lifts them, bunches them at her waist.

“Hold them,” he orders her and a slim, shaking hand comes down and fists.
how callous my heart grew [theon x sansa] 2/2 - trysts on March 19th, 2012 01:34 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: how callous my heart grew [theon x sansa] 2/2 - lydzi on March 19th, 2012 11:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
leah rebecca: Robb Starkbloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 05:53 am (UTC)
Robb/Sansa - godswood
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 17th, 2012 11:47 pm (UTC)
"You shouldn't be fighting with steel," Sansa hisses, pressing the linen strips against the cut against Robb's chest. "It's too dangerous."

It is late in the day, just before dark and they're in the godswood, at the base of the weirwood tree. Sansa reaches over and dips the linen into the pool of water, a satisfactory smile on her lips when Robb hisses at the cold wet cloth against his skin.

"Smile all you want, little sister," Robb says. "But wars aren't fought with wooden swords. And one day I may have to defend your honor."

Sansa laughs then, rolling her eyes at him. "Who do you think you are? A Kingsguard?" she asked teasingly.

Despite her teasing, Robb's face grows serious. "I wish you could stay at Winterfell. One day you and I would could rule this place together."

Sansa's eyes darken, her mouth a straight line that dips low in the corners, showing her displeasure in Robb's words. "Don't."

"Sansa, look at me." Robb's hand is on her face, sliding through her thick red hair to cup the back of her neck, pull her face in towards his. "You could be the queen of the north. My queen."

"Robb, it's not right. We can't...play these games any more." Sansa pleads, but she doesn't pull away from him. Instead she drops her head slightly, Robb rests his hand on the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing at the soft hairs.

"It's not a game, Sansa," Robb says, and he kisses her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She tries to protest at first, the feeling is odd, to feel the slick of his tongue in her mouth. But it's soft too, and he licks at her tongue slowly, coaxing her to respond, and she does, hesitantly at first but then the floodgates open. More than once their teeth collide, and Sansa tugs too hard on his lip, but Robb is breathing hard and Sansa's cheeks are bright and ruddy, her mouth swollen.

His hand grazes along the silk of her dress, cupping her small breast in his hand. He takes his time, squeezing until Sansa's breath is quick and raspy in her throat, and her hand rests tight on his shoulder. Her body is tense, pleasure licking like fire along her spine as Robb pulls her onto his lap, her skirt up to her thighs when she straddles him.

Robb groans, holding Sansa to him, grinding up against her, through the thin layer of her smallclothes. Sansa's eyes widen, feeling the hard flesh of Robb's cock against her. The licks of fire shoot down deeper inside her, and Sansa grinds her own hips against him in return, feels the rush of pleasure pulsing between her legs.

His hand scrambles down between them, into her smallclothes. Robb's hands stroke the inside of her thighs at first, rubbing his fingertips along the soft skin. Sansa bites her lip between her teeth, her eyes pleading with him for more.

He touches her with one finger, running them up the length of her slit and back down. He alternates between his two fingers, until they are slick with her wetness on them.

"You're so...soft," Robb says, and there is a hint of surprise in his voice. "And wet."

Sansa's face reddens, embarrassed. "I...I'm..."

"Shh...no, Sansa, it's good." Robb says. He leans in to kiss her mouth again, his finger sliding over and up into her. Sansa gasps loud, her grasp tightening even more against his shoulders.

"Robb," Sansa's voice is barely a whisper as his finger works in and out of her. She lets out a half moan/half sob that stills Robb's hand, his brow furrowed.

Sansa's blue eyes fly open, her mouth open with her heavy breathing. "Don't stop, Robb. Please." Her voice is heavy with desperation.

He continues, and she comes apart in front of him, grinding herself down on his hand, contracting around his fingers. In the moonlight, the pale column of her throat is exposed as she throws her head back, bright auburn hair following out around her.

When she straightens up, she pulls her head back to look at her brother, and finds him breathing heavy, a lopsided, yet satisfied, grin on his face. His hand is wet from her, and he holds it up between them, inhaling the scent of her before licking her off his fingers, one after the other.

*I wrote this for the pornbattle originally but your prompt inspired me to rework it!*
(no subject) - tarmenel on March 18th, 2012 01:39 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 18th, 2012 02:48 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 08:41 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 18th, 2012 11:54 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - wandererjulia on April 5th, 2012 02:20 pm (UTC) (Expand)
purely_blissfulpurely_blissful on March 17th, 2012 06:12 am (UTC)
Cersei/Jon - Jon is taking revenge of his father after war is over.
margaeryrainbowmargaeryrainbow on March 17th, 2012 06:42 am (UTC)
renly/loras- in a tower window... preferably the tower of the 'hand'
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 11:05 am (UTC)
theon/jeyne w., infidelity
I like you first and second and third.: asoiaf | assholemiawkitten on March 18th, 2012 12:44 pm (UTC)
digging our graves with your hands

They are always the ones left behind, the queen who wears a heavy crown and the boy who tries his hardest to remember his name.

Their King leaves to fight battles, battles he has no business fighting, and they are the ones waiting to see if he’ll return to them alive. It eats at them, chipping away from the inside out, leaving them hollow and empty and it isn’t fair, to feel like half a person, pretending to be whole only when he comes back.

That’s why she comes to him first, a small act of rebellion, trying to prove to herself that she still exists apart from him. Her teeth leave scars on his jaw and neck, her nails drag red lines from his shoulders to the small of his back and she hurts him everytime she fucks him, screaming her husband’s name like something of a punishment.

When he goes to her - the guilt still gnawing at him but he has the right to hurt him too - she refuses him but he isn’t one to take no for an answer (he still has that much of himself left). They fight, a bracelet of bruises on each of her wrists, his tongue as bloody as her mouth. Her legs wrap around his body - half a body, barely there - and his fingers sink into her cunt, pushing and pulling, each moan a stab in their King’s back.

They fall to the floor when they’re done, a heap of torn skirts and sticky limbs, and Jeyne kisses him goodnight, her lips as soft as Robb’s.

They fall asleep together, broken again, still waiting.

Edited at 2012-03-18 01:41 pm (UTC)
(no subject) - a_cherrytree on March 18th, 2012 01:49 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 08:42 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - ghostinsweats on March 20th, 2012 05:34 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 20th, 2012 08:02 pm (UTC) (Expand)