Chapter Text
The cold stone of Winterfell’s chambers bit through the thin fabric of Jon’s cloak, but it was nothing compared to the ache coiling low in his belly. His thoughts were a storm, dark and restless, he was restless again. Not because of war. Not because of duty. Because of her . Sansa. He knew he could not get to her, not yet so he settled for what was available: Brienne of Tarth. Silent. Dutiful. Always nearby, always available. Never asking. Never demanding. She was exactly what he needed, someone to use. Someone who would take everything he gave and never complain and never expect more.
She stood where he left her still and composed, like she had no desire, no soul. But Jon knew better. He saw how her eyes flickered sometimes. How her breath caught when he was too close.
She wants it. But she’d never say it. That’s why he liked it.
Silent. Unmoved. Perfect for what he needed, a vessel, nothing more.
No tenderness. No promises. No softness.
He crossed the room in a few quiet strides and stopped in front of her. “Turn.”
Brienne obeyed. No question. No hesitation. She turned and bent over the long wooden table, her hands resting against the grainy surface, her posture a perfect offering.
Jon stared down at her. Her broad back. Her wild hair. Her waist narrowing just enough to grab.
This is all she’s good for.
He grabbed her hips roughly and thrust inside her in one harsh motion. She sucked in a breath but made no sound.
Good.
His grip tightened. The slap of skin on skin echoed through the cold hall.
She was still. Silent. Obedient.
Not even a moan, he thought. Just take it.
He fucked her harder, deeper, imagining Sansa bent over in the Great Hall, over the war table, moaning into the ancient stones as he drove into her. Her mouth drooling, her body stretched and used.
His fingers tangled in her thick hair, pulling hard just as he’d imagined a thousand times. A sound rose deep from his throat, a growl of frustration but no matter how deep he went, it wasn’t enough. The pressure was building fast. Hot. Unbearable.
He pulled out suddenly, his voice low and demanding. “Turn around. Kneel.”
Brienne didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees before him, mouth slightly open, eyes unreadable. She knew exactly what to do.
He grabbed her hair and shoved his cock deep into her mouth, barely giving her time to breathe. She gagged, a wet, choked sound.
That sound sent him over the edge.
His grip tightened as he emptied into her throat, thick and hot, the thought of her choking on his seed making him growl with release. She coughed but held him steady obeying even in this.
He panted from exertion as he retracted his dick roughly from Brienne's mouth watching a mix of saliva and cum drip from her lips.
No words. No thanks. No apology.
He stepped back and fastened his pants. Brienne wiped her mouth, still kneeling, still silent.
He didn’t look at her. He wouldn’t.
She wasn’t here to be seen. She was here to be used.
And he was far from satisfied.
His chest ached with a mixture of fleeting satiation and disdain. This was just a short lived solution to the fantasies that plagued his every thought, infectious thoughts of Sansa's supple body writhed beneath him, her thick hair tousled, her dainty frame arched in anguished pleasure but that would have to wait until the coveted spoils of war had been rightfully seized.
Brienne's frail, abused figure slumped on the table. Not a single sob escaped her lips. She lay there, she knew she was just another conquest in Jon Snow's glorious conquests.
Her green eyes looked empty and unfocused as she stared blankly at the fading memories of the night. The sound of the doors closing echoed around her, but she barely noticed because her mind and body felt numb and shut off from the world.
She struggled to clean herself up, tears welling up but held back. The strong, musky smell of him filled her senses, pulling her back under the powerful grip of desire and lust.
Even though her body ached from what happened, a strange, twisted smile appeared on her lips. Her sense of honor as a knight had been completely destroyed in this passionate and violent encounter, but in its place, she felt a strange kind of happiness mixed with shame.
She gave in to the overwhelming pleasure, even though it came with pain and humiliation. She felt degraded and used, but the intense feelings were stronger than her pride.
She stood up unsteady and grabbed some old cloth to clean the blood left behind. Then, a bitter laugh escaped her maybe his rough passion wasn’t all bad after all. His wildness somehow brought her back to life, made her feel alive again.
Deep down, she realized she wanted to be completely overwhelmed and taken by him, to give up control and live in wild abandon. With each trembling wave of feeling in her body, she understood she was trapped by lust.
But maybe, if she endured enough suffering with him, she could find a break from the boredom and emptiness that had once defined her strong character. She was meant to be dominated and broken by him many times and by accepting this fate, she could hold on to some small piece of dignity from the ruins of her lost honor.