#fourthcrow

Your soft form was curled beneath the furs, silky hair sprawled across the pillow, your lips parted ever so slightly as you slept. You were surely a pretty sight, one that only served to make him grow harder in his smallclothes. It was almost pathetic, Robb thought, that the mere sight of his wife could make him ache. He hoped the feeling was mutual. Your body was so warm and pliant against his own, one firm arm slung over your waist as he held your back to his chest.

Robb didn't want to disturb your slumber, not when you slept so peacefully, but his need for you was getting harder to ignore. He would make sure your abrupt awakening was well worth your while. His lips found your neck, planting gentle kisses over the marks he had left the night before. He could feel the shift in your breath, even if it was unconscious, your body responding to his familiar touch in your slumber. His hand, once splayed over the soft plane of your stomach began to dip lower, fingertips gliding across the skin of your thigh that was left bare from the way your shift had tugged up on the night. He savored the warmth of your skin and the subtle shift of your hips as you began to wake.

Robb's touch grew bolder as his fingers moved to the honey between your legs. He groaned softly at the wetness he found there, eyes squeezing shut as his calloused fingers found your clit. The little nub was already slickened with your arousal, two fingers easily gliding over it in tight circles. The whine you let out was so soft, so needy, it had your husband throbbing.

“Shhh, my lady,” he murmured, voice rough from disuse, “I've got you.” The scratch of his stubble against the delicate shell of your ear had you shuddering, hands clutching the bedsheets as you began to come back to reality.

“Robb.”

The breathy call of his name had his fingers speeding up on your clit, and it was then that he realized he was rutting against your rear, too desperate to stop himself like a dog in heat. His mouth found your neck again, teeth gently sinking into the sensitive skin before he soothed it with his tongue. It had you gasping, and Robb took the opportunity to slide a finger into your welcoming heat. “You're soaked, love,” the smirk was practically audible in his words. His hips rolled slowly, grinding the hard outline of his cock against your ass. “Were you dreaming about me?”

“Mhh… perhaps,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut with a small pinch of your brow. Your walls clamped around his invading digit, already wanting for more as you subtly rocked against his hand.

In tune with the tells of your body, and the soft little sounds that escaped you, Robb slid a second finger inside of you. He scissored his fingers for a few long moments, stretching you out for what was to come. “I hope it was a good dream,” he spoke huskily, lips still planting open-mouthed kisses along your neck and behind your ear until your skin glistened with his spit. “But never better than the real thing. I am here, my wife, let me love you.”

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, reveling in the whimper of protest you let out, ready to be filled again. He made quick work of shoving down his smallclothes, his cock springing free. It was hard and aching, leaking with his need for his wife. One hand tugged up your shift in a haste, revealing the swell of your rear and the shape of your hips. His fingers sunk into the supple flesh of one of your cheeks, spreading you open for him. He grasped his cock, guiding the leaking tip through your folds. He watched, enraptured, as your folds parted around him, his length gliding easily through your arousal.

“Husband!” You gasped when his head caught on your clit, the delicious drag sending heat through your core as your body tensed.

“Shhh, my lady wife,” he repeated. Without more preamble, Robb lined himself up with your entrance. He groaned as soon as he slid inside, your warmth pulling him in further as he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. His hand slid from your ass to your hip, fingers clutching onto you as he bottomed out. The moan you let out had him exhaling shakily, and it took all of his strength not to move until you adjusted.

Slowly, agonizingly so, Robb began to rock his hips. He dragged out of your clenching cunt until only the tip remained before pushing back inside. The pace was slow and deep, and he reveled in the soft moans he could draw from your lips, he reveled in the feeling of your warmth around him. It was what he had been aching for, and now he was lost in the pleasure. His hand slid up your body, arm looped over your waist, as his hand cupped one of your breasts through the thin fabric of your shift. He kneaded the soft mound, thumb circling your pebbled nipple as he sped up. Robb's hips slapped against your ass, the sound of flesh against flesh mingling with his grunts and your moans.

“So pretty,” Robb gasped, words falling from his lips without rhyme or reason, “so perfect. My lady. My wife. My heart."

As his thrusts grew more erratic, he eased you onto your stomach without missing a beat. His chest was flush against your back, body covering your own as he continued to run into you. “Robb!” You cried out, the noise strangled as his weight pressed into you. He pried open the tight grip you had on the pillows, fingers locking with your own. The other hand slid up your body, finger wrapping around your chin to tilt your head to look at him. His lips found yours in a messy kiss, though it was far too quick for your liking.

“You feel so good beneath me, my darling,” Robb panted, eyes glued to the way your brows furrowed, your hair clung to your sweaty forehead, your lips parted around soft gasps and whines. He felt his balls begin to tighten, threatening with his incoming release. He dropped his head upon your shoulder again, teeth biting at the bare skin he found. “My love, my lady, I'm close.”

“In… inside!” You managed to gasp.

That was all it took.

“You want me to cum inside, darling? Want me to fill you up and fuck you full of my seed?” The words were ragged as his hips stuttered, his hand sliding away from your jaw to clutch your hip. Robb squeezed your hand, and though his next words were spoken in a daze of lust, he meant them. “I can't wait to see you round with our babe. Let the whole North know you're mine.”

With a few punishingly hard thrusts, Robb stilled, and spilled inside of you. He felt your walls clench and spasm around him, a shrill cry falling from your lips as you met your orgasms together. He screwed his eyes shut, lips parted around gasping breaths and raspy moans. His hips stuttered as he rode out the waves of his climax, each pulse of his cock sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last spurts of his release dribbled out.

You were both panting, trembling with the aftermath of pleasure. Robb rolled his hips lazily, feeling his softening cock still nestled inside you. He could feel their combined releases starting to leak out around him, dribbling down your thighs. Marking you. Claiming you. He let go of your hip, hand propping himself up so he did not fully crush you with his weight. Nuzzling against the crook of your neck, he placed a reverent kiss to your skin.

“Are you alright, love?”

His question was almost laughable.

“Never better, husband. Only.. tired.”

Robb grinned against your neck, peppering kisses up the expanse of it until he met your jaw, your cheek, your forehead. “Well-spent, hm?” He hummed. He hissed as he slipped his softening cock out of you, rolling onto his back to gather you on his arms. He didn't miss the way you clenched your thighs together, an attempt at keeping his warm seed inside of you. It made his heart stutter, not entirely with lust, but hope. Hope that it would take.

“Sleep, wife,” he whispered, placing a final, lingering kiss upon your forehead as you rested on his chest. “I will be here when you wake.”

Cregan loves to show you off. he won't flaunt you in some flashy way, or declare to the whole of Westeros that you're with child, he is more subtle. in court meetings or when bannermen and lords come to visit Winterfell, he has to make sure you're right there by his side. he'll have a strong arm wrapped around the small of your back, hand reaching to rest on your hip, and fingers softly brushing over your belly. he won't mention the fact that you're with child (mostly because it is quite clear depending on how far along you are) but he loves to have you by his side, silently showing his vassal houses exactly how much he loves you. he isn't ashamed of his wife's pregnancy and certainly doesn't shy away from anything that comes with it, as other highborn lords tend to do.

speaking of not shying away from anything, Cregan is probably one of the most supportive husbands you could have during pregnancy. early on, he's right by your side whenever you experience morning sickness. Cregan will hold your hair out of your face if it's long enough while rubbing a hand up and down your back until the nausea subsides. he will take you into his arms without hesitation and wipe away your tears, and make sure you drink enough water to rehydrate. if you suddenly start hating a certain smell, like any of the soaps or oils used in your baths, he'll make sure it's gone by the end of the day and help you pick out new ones ─ that both you and the babe seem to agree on. food. food might be another issue, as I feel like most of the Northern diet consists of meat and meat doesn't always go well with pregnancy. if there is anything your are particularly experiencing an aversion to, he'll make sure the kitchen staff knows. if it's the smell of cooking that bothers you, even though the keep is vast, he might take you out for a little walk if the weather allows it, just to make sure it won't bother you.

Cregan is there for all of your children's births. no matter what day or what time your labors start, he is there from the very beginning. it could be the middle of the night, during a council meeting, any time at all, and he will drop everything. it does go against tradition, but the maester and midwives alike knew better than to bring it up. (during your first birth, he gave a very stern look to the maester when he advised against his presence. Cregan didn't need to say anything before he scurried out of the way and let him in) he knows it's a very trying and vulnerable time for you, so he'll speak up without hesitation. something really doesn't feel right? he's telling the maester. you want to try a different position? he's telling the maester. some of the help is making you uncomfortable? he's ordering them to leave himself.

Cregan would hold your hand through it all. claw at his skin, curse him out, he will let his wife do whatever she needs during childbirth. if it comes down to it, which he had been praying to the old gods and the new for it to never be so dire, he would always choose the life of his wife over the child. it's a horrible decision, one he never wants to be faced with, but he only has one wife. he wouldn't ever put you in the face of danger.

he always likes to be the one to catch the babe when it comes out. he's seen enough blood, so it hardly bothers him. he'll quickly, but carefully, hold the babe to your chest as the maester and midwives continue to tend to both you and the child. all through the end, he'll whisper words of how proud he is, how strong you were, how healthy the babe is, as he brushes sweat-slick hair off your forehead and kiss your temple.

another thing your husband adores is the way your rounded cheeks split into a grin each time you see him. it's so very endearing, watching the way your visage shifts, enlighten by his very presence alone.

very much gives grumpy x sunshine. jon, your quiet, brooding, king in the north who only ever shows his sweeter side to you, all vulnerable and caring in the warmth of your embrace. he would not hesitate to defend you whenever needed. while jon loves your body, all its softness, all its warmth, he knows that self-love is much harder for you. some lady from the court whispered under her breath about you? not happening. a drunken lord called you a horrid name between a snicker and another swig of ale? not on jon's watch. you're his wife, his love, and he will not stand for any disrespect. he only wishes you could see yourself through his own eyes.

and then there's the more practical side that comes with the extra bit of weight you carry. winters in the north are harsh and unforgiving. jon doesn't want some frail, delicate woman who he fears won't make it past the season. you come with a bit of extra hardiness, extra warmth.

another aspect of such topics is the prospect of carrying children — if that was something you both would wish for — again, jon doesn't want a fragile thing to worry about. he doesn't want you to break while you're carrying his child, and while he will still worry, he knows your body is practically made for bearing his little wolf pups.

— NSFW.

we already know that jon is canonically a munch. between your legs is surely better than whatever paradise comes after death. the way your fingers thread through his dark curls, tousling them from their bun, your pliant body squirming beneath him. oh, it's his own personal heaven. jon loves the way your plump thighs wrap around his head as he worships you with his tongue and lips. he could spend an eternity there, slurping up your nectar and suckling on your swollen clit. it has him groaning against your cunt and grinding against the featherbed.

jon loves the sight of your body sprawled out beneath him, your hair splayed across the pillows like a silken halo, framing you as his angel in the flesh. he loves to watch the way your flesh molds to his fingers as he grips your thighs or waist, the way the skin ripples with each one of his thrusts.

and your boobs. gods, your boobs. it doesn't matter what shape they are, or how big they are, he would kiss and suck and knead them until you were whining, crying out for him for more. I am a firm believer that jon snow is a boob guy.

his favorite thing when you are intimate is simply holding you as close as possible. with one strong arm tucked beneath your body, keeping you pressed against the hard planes of his chest as he drags his hips against yours. his other forearm is propped beside your head, keeping him up so he can watch the way your face scrunched in bliss, the way you look up at him like he's your whole world. his hand cradles your cheek, thumb reverently stroking your skin as he keeps you close and makes you cum.

series.

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fics.

silk and steel. *nsfw

gwayne returns to oldtown after two weeks away from his wife. too desperate for her taste and touch, he joins her in their chambers in the darkness of night.

headcanons.

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blurbs/thoughts.

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