"But she and her furry friends
Took down the queen and her men
And that's how the story goes
The story of the beast with those four dirty paws."
- Dirty Paws from "Of Monsters and Men"

Her lips parted seductively, brushing against the ripe strawberry as if giving it the softest of kisses. He had never been so envious of the seed-speckled fruit as her tongue darted out to taste its sweetness. Slowly, torturously, she slid the berry into her waiting mouth. The sight of her lips closing around it to suck at the crimson skin was nearly enough to do him in, making his pulse race and his breath quicken. Sweat beaded on his brow and a drop slid down his spine beneath his Northern cloak, making him shiver as she closed her eyes as if in ecstasy brought on by the fruit's exquisite taste. Twin rows of pearly white teeth sank slowly into the strawberry's sweet flesh, spilling its juices and staining her lips the same deep cerise. A rivulet escaped her mouth, dripping slowly down her chin and her pliant, pink tongue went after it, licking it provocatively, teasingly, drawing his thoughts to what her tongue could do if it were running along his-

"Jon, what are you staring at?"

Her voice snapped him out of his musings as if he had been slapped. Arya was standing at the head of the table next to him, giving him a very odd look. It seemed she wasn't in the throes of orgasmic bliss while sucking the juices from a delectable strawberry, but simply trying to squeeze in a snack during their meeting for how to deal with the Dragon Queen after she had gone mad and unleashed her Dothraki upon the North.

What finally caused the Targaryen to snap was the Night King using the undead Viserion to take out her two remaining dragons. Even though Drogon had taken out the undead beast before he too died, and even though Jon killed the Night King not long after effectively ending the Long Night, Daenerys still lost her shit and blamed the Northerners. She used her remaining warriors, which was only half of her original Dothraki, to launch a coup against the Northern Lords thinking they had lead her dragons to their death on purpose. They ended up killing Lord Glover, Lord Royce, Tormund, and Brienne before Nymeria and her pack of a thousand wolves burst out of the trees and ripped the heathens to shreds. From there it was easy to capture Daenerys, and they were now holding her hostage.

Before that disaster the Long Night had taken the lives of Bran, Grey Worm, Bronn, the Hound, and Beric Dondarrion. So many allies wiped out in only a fortnight, and it was all the Night King and Dany's fault. He put his trust in that crazy woman and she betrayed it a thousand fold.

"Well Arya," he stalled, trying to think of a suitable excuse for why he had been staring at her like she was the ripe berry he wished to eat. "I've never seen you look so…"

Ravenous, ravishing, damn near delectable, his mind helpfully supplied.

"Um…er…hungry," he finished lamely.

Arya shot him a glare that warned him to keep any further comments about her weight and eating habits to himself. As she shoved the rest of the strawberry into her mouth in a rather unladylike maneuver, a drop of juice dripped down her chin and splattered onto what he assumed were his plans for the battle of the Long Night, which was over now; as hard as that was to believe, he was still antsy to take retribution against Cersei who had failed to send aid, instead it was Jaime, Bronn and only a thousand Lannister soldiers loyal to the Kingslayer who had ridden to their aid. They lost half their men, same as every other army who fought against the walkers except for the Unsullied who were wiped out to a man.

'It was better that way, loathe as I am to admit it. We had less enemy soldiers to deal with afterwards thanks to the bloody Night King.'

Before the battle all Daenerys could talk about was sending her men against Cersei after news reached the North that the Golden Company had landed in King's Landing. Not that she was going to have the chance to take out the other Mad Queen now that she was locked in a cell with her handmaid Missandei.

She had to be taken care of, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it; she was his aunt and he was part Targaryen, no matter that he didn't want to be. He also thought he had feelings for her, but now they were wiped clean as slate. That was also before he found out he wasn't siblings with his family and seeing Arya after so many years. She had caused his heart to explode against his chest when seeing her grown into a beautiful deadly woman. He tried to look away from Sansa and Arya as they noticed he was still staring at Arya's lips, and he shook his head to clear it for the matter at hand. That was what this meeting was about. He, Sansa, Arya, Jaime, Tyrion, and Davos were here to discuss how to go about killing Daenerys.

She finally swallowed her mouthful of strawberry and proceeded to ask him what to do about his "lover" in what seemed like a jealous tone, or perhaps that was wishful thinking. He said she would receive northern justice and that he would swing the blade as much as it pained him to say those words.

"Tomorrow is when I'll do my part," he said in a gruff voice and sighed as everyone gave him sad looks. Arya most of all.

Tyrion said, "Is there no other way? She was upset, her children died. It was just a moment of anger, it wasn't her fault. It was…."

"Brienne died because of her!" Jaime interrupted and got flustered when everyone gave him curious looks. But he continued on, "If she's capable of this now, imagine what turmoil she'll cause in the years ahead with more power at her disposal. Westeros would be worse than it already is, thousands more would perish needlessly because of her paranoia. Burn them all, she would say." Jaime had a desperate cast to his haggard face as he hissed, "She burned my men to a crisp, she burned all the supplies for the winter. She's the new Mad Queen after my sister."

Tyrion had nothing to say to that, and Jon found himself agreeing with Jaime and gaining more respect for the man he used to think deserved none. "That is why I will do it. There's too much risk, no matter my feelings." He realized he felt sorrow at having to take her life, a deep feeling of regret and shame, and he knew he couldn't look at their sympathetic faces any longer. He brushed past his alarmed cousins and stormed out of the room, Sansa's calls of "Jon!" being ignored as his mind kept wandering back to the events that had set all his lecherous thoughts in motion away from Daenerys and towards Arya.

When they were scouting Mole's Town for any sign of Walkers he and Arya had spent the night at an inn, sharing a bed to keep warm.

While Arya had gone to bed immediately, sleep eluded Jon as it did so many nights, the countless faces of those he'd failed to save burned on the back of his eyelids. Despite his calm outward appearance, he still hadn't made peace with himself after so many years, and since he couldn't find sleep he left the shared room and went for a walk that ended at the local tavern. He found an abandoned barrel of mulled wine and drank himself into a bit of a buzz; though he was not drunk enough to forget his sorrows, the edge was certainly gone and he felt blessed fatigue creeping into his bones, ensuring that when he returned to the inn, he would sleep soundly.

The hallway had been dark, so much so that little to no light spilled into the room as he opened the door. However, Jon's eyes, along with his sense of smell were far superior to most, and that sight that greeted him was one he would never forget.

There was Arya in all her feminine glory, shirt bunched up around her armpits and her black breeches pooled around her ankles. Her hair was a sleek curtain of midnight black against her pillow as she arched and writhed, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth parted in a soundless gasp.

One hand cupped a pert breast, fondling the soft mound and occasionally plucking at a hardened nipple. The other hand was wedged between her supple thighs, twin digits sliding ceaselessly in and out of her quivering slit as her hips rocked in time to her heated ministrations.

Soft moans escaped her lips with every thrust of her fingers, and even in the faint light, Jon could see the rosy flush that stained her normally pale skin. She was womanly perfection, and the essence of sex and sensuality. Jon's mind was reeling as he stood, struck dumb, taking in every inch of her.

He had assumed his assassin cousin would be asleep, and had entered quietly so as not to disturb her. It seemed she was so caught up in the feel of her own two hands that she had not heard him return. He knew he should avert his eyes, should turn around and leave, but he was absolutely captivated by her beauty, by the raw sexuality emanating from his former sister. Despite how she had blossomed, he had never thought he would act on his new feelings towards her, but now here she was, supple breasts firm and delectable, and trim black curls adorning her mound. His perception of an innocent, childlike Arya was shattered, replaced with one of her as a sexual being, a ravishing woman with a woman's needs, a goddess' body that his fingers itched to touch, to hold, to kiss, and suck and taste.

He knew Arya was still a virgin, she had told him so herself in an awkward tension-filled conversation in which she explained everything she'd been through and that she apparently never fooled around, focusing all her energy on her list, but that there was a boy named Gendry who she had grown to like. He had perished on the Wall when it came down, as he had stayed there with Tormund and Beric. Jon was saddened at his new friend's death but also found himself selfishly grateful in an awful way as the blacksmith had left Arya all to himself. Maybe it was true what they said about bastards and their vile hearts; even though he wasn't one he still felt the association at moments like these.

Here she was, clearly lonely and aching for release, resorting to her own soft touch. Her moans increased in pitch and volume as her back arched off the bed. With a final cry, her toes curled as her orgasm rippled through her like a wave, toned muscles contracting, trembling. Jon found his mouth dry and his legs rooted to spot as he watched her reach her peak. Never had he seen something so erotic. Not even the Dragon Queen could match the sight of her heaving breasts and creamy thighs, her expression of euphoria and her thrusting fingers, slick with her own desire. His erection throbbed fiercely within the confines of his breeches, now suddenly too tight, and he felt himself longing to do the unthinkable, to join her in bed and pleasure her senseless. Never had he wanted so badly to lick every inch of a woman's body, to explore and savor, tease and please. He was quite sure he could satiate her every lonely desire, and suddenly longed to be the one in her bed, holding her through the night.

Those few blissful seconds of Arya's release were ending, and Jon knew he couldn't be caught standing here when she came to her senses. With nowhere else to go, he silently dashed outside into the freezing cold, but that sting did nothing to dispel his raging erection. He tried to direct his sinful thoughts elsewhere, to things mundane, disturbing, and even downright sad. But the thought of her lithe body was burned into his mind, the sounds of her passionate moans still ringing in his ears. After several minutes of enduring the cold with no results, he sighed in defeat and turned away from the inn.

With no other way to ease his throbbing arousal he closed his eyes and let the images of Arya come as his hand fisted around his shaft. He began to pump in time to the memory of her thrusting digits, remembering how they had disappeared inside her to the third knuckle. How would it feel to be deep inside her, to be covered in that same sticky, slick arousal, to feel her body wrap around him tightly? He imagined those perfect breasts in his hands, making her moan as he squeezed them tenderly. He wondered how her skin might taste, what the flavor between her thighs might be, and imagined burying his face there, his tongue gliding over sensitive flesh.

His hand slid up and down his length, over and over, his body coiled tighter and tighter as the tension low in his abdomen mounted. He imagined his aching length buried to the hilt in her, thrusting deeply, extracting desperate cries and pleas for more. He could only imagine that same beautiful sight of her coming, that glorious ripple through her body, but this time, because of him.

He hissed through clenched teeth as he came, his cock spasming as the tension within him came to a head. Rope after rope of milky liquid spurted from him, splashing against the snowy ground and disappearing into the white.

His body was spent and he sagged against the wall, his black curls falling into his eyes as he drew great, shuddering breaths of freezing air. Despite his release, images of Arya continued to plague him, and he was not so stupid to think he would get her out of his system so easily. Unfortunately, he had no idea how pervasive she would be. He had just contracted a disease that not even the most skilled Maester could heal…unless of course, their name happened to be Arya.

The rest of their trip home was pure torture. Jon tried to push away all his erotic thoughts concerning Arya, but it was impossible, and they kept popping resiliently to the surface of his mind.

Arya took the lead as they traveled home. As Jon trailed behind, he couldn't help but be captivated by the way her muscles flexed with every movement, how her arse looked absolutely delicious outlined against her tight breeches.

He was so caught up with her that his foot slipped causing him to stumble. His momentum carried him forward, causing him to crash into Arya and send them both toppling to the road.

Jon was normally light-footed and able to land easily on his feet, but not this time. His limbs became entangled with the lithe assassin and though he was able to brace himself, so his full weight didn't fall on her, he still knocked the wind out of her when she landed on the ground, and him on top of her.

Though dazed, he was acutely aware of her soft breasts pressing against him, of the way their hips were aligned, and her chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. For a blissful moment he enjoyed the feel of her tender body, imagining that he could have her in a similar position with a bed cradling their bodies, not the snowy dirt of the road
He rolled off her before it was apparent he had stayed too long and helped Arya to her feet, apologizing for his clumsiness. Though the fumble was highly uncharacteristic for the elite swordsman, Arya didn't ask any questions and Jon managed to keep his composure the rest of the way to Winterfell, hoping to avoid any suspicion about what he had seen the night before.

When he entered his chambers he sank to his bed and stared at his shaking hands. Then a shape moved in the doorway and he looked up to find Arya standing there with arms folded letting the door swing shut behind her. He couldn't deal with this right now, he had been thinking about her constantly and he didn't need to see her in front of him taunting his desires in the flesh.

"You don't have to do it Jon." He was only confused as she moved up to him, pressing her hand against his chest. "It's already over."

He just sat there puzzled and trying not to get aroused which was failing spectacularly.

"What do you mean?" he asked and she gave him one of her coy smiles.

"I poisoned them both before the meeting. Daenerys and her friend. They didn't feel a thing."

She lifted his shirt to examine past scars and trace her hand along his chest. Arya was doing this to distract him away from the shock that was seeping in, and before he could say anything she interrupted, "The north remembers. It had to be done, and better me than you. I've been trained by the Faceless Men after all. Also…" She paused as her grey eyes pierced into his. He gulped. She knew. She knew everything, about his feelings, about his lust, about how he thought of her. And she wasn't disgusted, he knew that for a fact when she leaned in to press her lips against his.

Jon was moving before he could stop himself. When Arya straightened from the kiss, she found herself pinned between the cold stone wall, and a very heated King.

"Jon!" she gasped, but Jon simply hushed her as he began to talk in dark, whispered tones.

"I saw you that night, Arya. I saw you touching yourself, alone in the darkness. I watched you come right in front of me and now I can't get you out of my mind."

Shock, embarrassment and then anger flitted across her blushing face, but her eyes soon grew wide in disbelief as he pressed his erection against her thigh. She opened her mouth to say something, but Jon pressed a finger to her lips.

"I've never wanted anyone so badly," he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear. "And I know that you're lonely. Just as much as me."

He could smell her scent, fresh and sweet. Her breath quickened and her body trembled ever so slightly, and yet she did not push him away.

He blew warm breath over the shell of her ear, delighting in how she shivered, then pulled away to look into her eyes. They were twin grey pools of bottomless pits, confusion and embarrassment swimming in their depths. But there was something else there too that might be the spark of curiosity and an odd smoldering light that Jon could only guess were the embers of desire.

Jon's hand seems to move on its own, suddenly falling to her waist and worming under the fabric of her top. Her skin was smooth as porcelain and satisfyingly warm. A small gasp escaped Arya's lips, causing his own lips to twist into a smile. He had expected her to push him away, to call him a pervert, but she remained still and silent. Perhaps she was curious as he to see where this would lead and how far she would let him go. His hardened length throbbed within his pants and he wondered if she understood the dangerous game she was playing and just how much he hungered for her.

His fingers itched to roam the unexplored landscape of her body but when he inched higher, he encountered the bindings over her breasts. Unraveling them would take too long so he merely cupped her small breast in his palm, running his thumb over her nipple which instantly pebbled into a hard bud even through the layers of wrapped fabric.

Arya gasped his name, inadvertently arching into his touch. Her reaction only stoked the flame of his desire, loving how she spoke his name so breathlessly. It was the same wondrous tone she had used that night at the inn, and he could only imagine the way she would have called his name if he had joined her then and fully satisfied her. It was not an opportunity he planned to miss a second time.

His hand fell to her thigh, caressing beneath the curve of her buttock. His fingers slid higher, grazing the spot where her leg met her pelvis before letting a single digit trace the cleft of her womanhood through her black breeches.

Her body shuddered as she moaned softly, her eyes meeting his, now clouded with the same burning need that filled Jon. He nudged her legs a little further apart so he could cup her mound, marveling at the intense heat emanating from her and the fact that the crotch of her breeches was already damp.

He pressed a finger into her slit, loving how it made her thighs tremble, and repeated the action over and over, sinking into as deeply as the fabric barrier would allow.

Arya's teeth sank alluringly into her lowly lip, reminding him that she was most definitely not a little girl anymore. Her hips began to grind in time to his finger's ministrations while her juices quickly soaked the flimsy material dividing them. He could smell her arousal, a powerful bouquet that made his mouth water for her. The need for her was intense, nearly animalistic, and though Jon had been tempered by discipline his entire life, he found himself rapidly losing control.

"Arya, if you don't stop me now, there will be no turning back," he warned.

Perhaps it was because he didn't like to play fair or perhaps it was because he had no intention of stopping, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he ran his finger over her clit. The pearl was so swollen he could find it easily, even through the black material, and whatever she was going to say was lost as she dissolved into a fit of shivering moans.

Unable to wait any longer, Jon withdrew a knife from his table. With all the speed and precision expected of an elite swordsman, he slit the crotch of Arya's pants open, exposing the treasure beneath. In one fluid movement the weapon was set aside and Arya was suddenly maneuvered forward, bent over the bed.

The sound of Jon rucking down his breeches caused Arya to look over her shoulder, eyes wide with surprise as she saw what he intended to do.

"Here? But anyone could walk in and see us!"

"Then you had better keep quiet so you don't attract attention," he growled, thrilled by the prospect of pleasuring Arya in his room. The fact their coupling could be discovered made it all the more forbidden and consequently, more exciting.

Her breath hitched as he brought his swollen length to her opening, rubbing the blunt head against her dripping slit. This was what he had dreamed of ever since that night, of being inside her, part of her. She had possessed him like no other had, her naked body, her soft whimpers of desire, her hair fanned across the pillow. Now he would have her and ease the loneliness they both had suffered for so long.

Pressing forward gently, he eased into her, groaning as her slickness enveloped him. She was liquid heat, her body gripping him, pulsing around him. His hands grabbed her heart-shaped arse tightly as his head fell back in bliss. He was only halfway inside but he paused, jaw clenched as he fought for his control. Her nubile body, her ragged breathing, and the fact that this was the most taboo of sexual encounters was pushing him to his limit.

Moaning his name, Arya wriggled wantonly, pushing herself back onto his cock. It appeared that while Jon was trying to gain his control, she was intent on making him lose it. Too impatient to wait, she pushed her hips back, forcing him to impale her right to the hilt. She gasped in pleasure as he was seated deeply within her, her molten body flexing around him as it accommodated the intrusion.

The last thread of Jon's control snapped with her brazen display of desire. With a growl more at home in the throat of a wolf, he began to pound into her, wet flesh smacking and slapping as he took her roughly.

Arya tried to stifle her broken moans, but pleasured syllables found their way from between her lips as Jon plundered and ravaged and took all she had. She turned her head to look at him, grey eyes wide and perfect mouth open, her delicate dark brows knitted together in a gratifying expression of pleasure.

Jon was consumed with the need to dominate, to pleasure her senseless so she would never again have to touch herself in the dark with no man to give her what she needed. As he gathered her wrists behind her in one hand, he quickly took in the sight of her flushed and panting, her tight pussy exposed by the crude hole he had cut in her breeches.

He slipped an undergarment around her wrists. He knew she was far too strong to truly be bound by such a thing, but it gave the illusion that she was helpless and unable to do anything but take his cock deeply, stroke after stroke.

Her cuffed hands bounced uselessly off her toned ass with every thrust, her torso leaning heavily on the bed without the use of her hands to brace herself. The sight of her glorious womanhood, pink and wet, stretched taut around his cock, made him groan aloud. She was everything he had imagined, nubile, responsive, and absolutely captivating. She appeared to enjoy being bound because her moans spiraled higher, louder. If she kept that up, someone would be sure to discover them.

Using her own underwear, he tugged it down and slipped the knot of black fabric into her mouth, muffling her moans. With her sounds of pleasure silenced, he began to pound her as hard and fast as he could, delighting in the muffled screams of delight he drew from his mate.

Her legs began to shake and her body sagged against the bed as she lost the ability to hold herself up. The first glistening drops of perspiration were beginning to form on her exposed skin and Jon decided she might be more comfortable in another position.

Lifting her as if she was merely an oversized rag doll, he walked her across the room to pin her against the wall. With both hands supporting her under her ass, he was able to position her so that their pelvises aligned. With a single thrust, he was back inside her, taking her at a slower pace this time and watching her tight body take his cock from this new angle.

Arya, unable to contribute much thanks to the fact that her cuffed hands were pinned behind her, was forced to endure the slower speed. Any words she might have said were muffled by the black material and though Jon could tell by her squirming hips that she desired a harder fucking, he was content to slide in and out of her slowly, marveling at the way her tight little pussy wrapped around him so snugly. Though they could be discovered at any moment, Jon leisurely continued to pleasure her, drawing out their coupling and increasing the risk of being found.

She was absolutely dripping, her honey coating his cock and making his thickness glisten in the yellowed light from the window above. The more he continued to tease her with the slow thrusting of his cock, the wetter she got. Jon never would have guessed the serious little minx got off on hard fucking, gentle teasing, and even being tied up and gagged. It appeared there was much more to sweet little Arya, and Jon intended to discover every kink that turned her on.

She was moaning frantically now, the meaning of her words lost behind the gag as she squirmed as much as her pinned position would allow. Her eagerness was once again testing the limits of his control. His cock was raging hard inside her, no more satisfied than she by their languid pace. He had already tested their luck by making their encounter last this long and it was a miracle the hallway outside had remained unoccupied so far. It was time to finish this.

Tightening his grip on her hips, he began to thrust hard and deep, driving up into her as he pressed her against the wall for support. What would have been passionate screams came out as mumbles as Arya's eyes rolled back before sliding closed. Jon smirked as he could feel the feminine muscles within her wind tighter, her orgasm drawing near. He loved how it felt to be the one making her moan. This moment had played out in his mind countless different ways, but now here they were in reality, living out a fantasy Jon had never really intended to make true.

Her tightening muscles suddenly clenched before her whole body began to spasm. He groaned as her back arched off the wall, her eyes squeezed shut. It was a beautiful sight, and the eroticism and sensation of being inside her drove him right over the edge. He was so caught up in the moment that he nearly forgot to pull out, but at the very last moment he slid free of her to erupt against her thigh.

His strength waned and he let her slide down to stand on her own two feet, but it was only with the support of the wall that either of them stayed upright.

After a moment of silence broken only by his heavy panting, he reached up and tugged the fabric from her mouth. Her bottomless piercing eyes were gazing up at him, the orbs gradually becoming more lucid as the lust that had clouded them dissipated. Now that they had finished, Jon was beginning to realize the gravity of what he had done and the fact that though she had clearly enjoyed herself in the moment, Arya might never want to see his face again after what he had done.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the creak of the door opening on the floor above them silenced her.

In a flash, Jon unloosed her wrists and allowed Arya to tug her clothes back in place. When she stood straight, there was no sign of the hole in her breeches. She would simply have to remember not to bend over the rest of the day.

Footsteps began to descend down the hall and though he knew they shouldn't be caught together, he was reluctant to leave her. He wanted more of her, and not just for the sex.

He wanted to hold her afterwards and watch her fall asleep in his arms. He wanted to drench her skin in exotic oils and massage every last knot from her tired body. All of these things were realized in a single moment but there was no time to voice them as the unknown intruder descended down the hall.

All he could think to say in the time he was allotted was, "this isn't over," before turning on his heel and soundlessly escaping to the door outside and out of the building. He was temporarily blinded by the sun after being in the poorly lit corridor. He tied on his breeches as he walked outside and away from his sin.

As he stalked to the training yard he couldn't help but wish the sun would hurry faster on its journey through the sky. Once night came, he would undoubtedly be visiting a certain sleek-haired girl and if all went well, the visit would be the first of many.