Chapter Text
Jaime woke to the feeling of blunt pressure between his legs.
For a disoriented second, he thought it was a dream. Then reality hit as Robb’s thick cock pushed slowly, inexorably inside him. He was already wet, his treacherous body had responded in sleep, but the stretch still burned.
Jaime’s eyes snapped open.
Robb was above him, braced on one elbow, red curls falling messily over his forehead. His face was tight with pain from the wound, but his hips kept moving in shallow, insistent thrusts, working himself deeper.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jaime hissed, voice still rough with sleep.
Robb didn’t stop. He sank another inch deeper, jaw clenched.
“Taking what’s mine,” he said lowly. “You’re still wet from last night. Greedy little cunt.”
Jaime tried to twist away, but Robb’s weight pinned him down. The alpha’s injured side was pressed against him, bandages rough against Jaime’s skin.
“Get off me,” Jaime snarled, shoving at Robb’s chest. “I’m not some hole you can just use whenever you feel like it.”
Robb grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the bed, thrusting deeper with a grunt. The movement pulled at his stitches, but he didn’t seem to care.
“You’re my omega,” he said, voice rough and edged with that superior Stark righteousness. “You can spit venom at me all you like, Lannister, but your body knows who it belongs to. Even if your pride never will.”
Jaime’s breath hitched as Robb bottomed out, the thick head of his cock pressing right against that sensitive spot inside him. He hated how good it felt. Hated the low throb of pleasure that shot through him despite everything.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” Jaime spat, eyes flashing with fury. “You think your precious northern blood makes you better than me? You’re the one who was secretly drinking moon tea like a frightened boy so you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of fucking me.”
Robb’s hips snapped forward harder, driving a broken sound from Jaime’s throat.
“At least I’m honest about what I am,” Robb growled, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. “You Lannisters wrap your sins in gold and pretty words. Your father sold you to me like a broodmare and you still act like you’re above it all. But look at you…” He rolled his hips in a slow, filthy grind. “Already dripping for a Stark cock. Even after everything I said.”
Jaime’s free hand clawed at Robb’s shoulder, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood.
“Fuck you,” he gasped, trying to fight the rising heat in his belly. “I don’t want this. Not while you’re being a self-righteous prick.”
Robb’s laugh was low and mean. He shifted his angle and thrust again, harder, making Jaime’s back arch despite himself.
“Your cunt says otherwise,” Robb murmured against his ear. “So wet. So tight. You can hate me all you want, Jaime, but you were made for this. Made to take me.”
Jaime turned his face away, teeth gritted, breathing ragged. His body was betraying him completely, slick flooding around Robb’s cock with every thrust, his omega purring desperately even as his mind recoiled from the cruelty in Robb’s voice.
“Stop talking,” he hissed.
But Robb didn’t stop.
He kept moving in deep, punishing strokes, each one dragging against every sensitive spot inside Jaime. The pain from his wound only seemed to make him more vicious, more determined to prove something.
“You Lannisters think you’re lions,” Robb panted, voice strained with pain and lust. “But you fold so easily when an alpha pins you down. Your sister on her knees for a stag… and now you, spreading your legs for a wolf.”
Jaime’s eyes flashed with pure rage. He bucked up violently, trying to throw Robb off, but the alpha was heavier and used the momentum to drive in even deeper.
“Get the fuck off me,” Jaime snarled, voice cracking. “I don’t want your cock if this is how you’re going to be.”
Robb just growled and pinned him harder, hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm.
“You’ll take it,” he said darkly. “And you’ll come on it. Like you always do.”
Jaime’s head fell back against the pillows, a broken moan slipping free despite his best efforts. His body was burning, pleasure and humiliation twisting together into something unbearable.
He hated how close he already was.
Robb’s rhythm faltered for a moment as another wave of pain clearly hit him. He hissed through his teeth, forehead dropping to Jaime’s shoulder. Then, mercifully, he stopped talking.
No more cruel words about Lannisters. No more superiority. Just heavy breathing and the wet sound of his cock driving into Jaime’s cunt.
He fucked him harder.
Deep, punishing strokes that knocked the breath out of Jaime’s lungs. The thick head of Robb’s cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot inside him with every thrust, forcing broken, unwilling moans from Jaime’s throat despite how hard he tried to stay silent.
“Fuck— Robb—” Jaime gasped, fingers clawing at the alpha’s back.
Robb didn’t answer with words. He simply growled low in his chest and shifted his hips, finding an even better angle. The wet, filthy slap of skin against skin filled the chamber as he drove in harder, faster, chasing pleasure through the haze of pain.
Jaime’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry as another brutal thrust made stars burst behind his eyelids. His legs wrapped tighter around Robb’s waist, heels digging into the small of the alpha’s back.
Robb was practically delirious now, eyes glassy, breathing ragged, sweat mixing with the blood that had seeped through his bandages and smeared across both their skin. Every thrust pulled at his wound, but he didn’t stop. If anything, the pain seemed to drive him deeper into that primal headspace.
He fucked like a man who needed this more than air.
Jaime tried to hold onto his anger, tried to keep his pride intact, but it was slipping. Each deep, relentless stroke dragged him closer to the edge. Slick poured out around Robb’s cock, soaking the sheets beneath them. His omega was purring shamelessly now, flooding him with heat and desperate need.
Robb’s knot was swelling fast, catching on every pull-out and stretching Jaime wider. The burn was exquisite.
“Gods—” Jaime choked out, back arching sharply as Robb ground in deep, circling his hips to press the thick knot right against his rim.
Robb made a wrecked, animal sound and slammed in harder, forcing the knot past Jaime’s tight rim in one brutal push. The stretch was overwhelming. Jaime cried out, nails raking down Robb’s back hard enough to draw blood as the knot locked them together.
Robb came with a low, guttural groan, hips jerking as he spilled deep inside him, hot, endless pulses of seed flooding Jaime’s cunt. The pressure of the knot against that perfect spot inside him finally pushed Jaime over the edge.
He came hard, vision whiting out, cunt clenching violently around the thick knot as sharp, overwhelming pleasure tore through him. His thighs trembled, a broken moan tearing from his throat before he could stop it.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the occasional wet shift of the knot inside him.
Robb collapsed half on top of him, heavy and fever-warm, face buried against Jaime’s neck. His breathing was unsteady, pained, but satisfied.
Jaime lay beneath him, chest heaving, staring up at the ceiling with a hollow feeling settling in his gut. The pleasure was still echoing through his body, but it felt tainted now. Dirty. He felt used.
The moment the knot began to go down enough for movement, Jaime shoved at Robb’s shoulders.
“Get off me.”
Robb made a tired sound but didn’t move immediately.
Jaime shoved harder, voice cold and sharp. “I said get off.”
This time Robb rolled aside with a pained grunt, wincing as the movement pulled at his stitches. The loss of the knot and the sudden gush of seed leaking from Jaime’s cunt made him feel even more exposed.
Jaime didn’t wait. He pushed himself up, legs shaky, and stood. Thick rivulets of Robb’s spend ran down his thighs as he grabbed his discarded breeches and tunic from the floor.
He dressed quickly, hands trembling with barely-contained rage.
Robb watched him from the bed, still breathing hard, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and pain.
“Jaime…” he started, voice rough.
“Don’t,” Jaime cut him off, voice ice-cold. He didn’t even look at him as he yanked on his boots. “Not a fucking word.”
He stormed out of the chambers without another glance, slamming the heavy oak door behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges.
The corridor was empty.
Jaime walked away with quick, furious steps, jaw locked so tightly it ached, trying to ignore the way his body still throbbed and leaked with every movement.
He made it halfway down the corridor before the sticky, humiliating sensation between his thighs became unbearable. Robb’s spend was still dripping down his legs, warm and obscene, a constant reminder of what had just happened.
Swearing viciously under his breath, he veered sharply toward the small private bathing chamber attached to their rooms, the one with the copper tub and the heavy door. He slammed it shut behind him, not caring who heard, and stripped off his breeches with sharp, angry movements.
The water in the basin was cold, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a clean cloth, soaked it, and began scrubbing roughly between his legs, trying to wipe away every trace of Robb’s seed. The rough fabric dragged against his sensitive, abused cunt, making him hiss through his teeth. More cum leaked out with every press, thick and pearly, running down his thighs.
“Fucking bastard,” he muttered, scrubbing harder, as if he could erase the feeling of being used.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Lord Jaime?” came Marta’s bright, cheerful voice from the other side. “Are you in there, my lord?”
Jaime froze, cloth still pressed between his legs.
“Go away, Marta,” he snapped.
There was a brief pause, then her voice continued, completely unbothered.
“I heard there was quite the commotion over these few days. The whole castle is buzzing about the king’s injury and how you helped bring him back to his chambers. I thought you might need some assistance. Warm water? Clean linens? Perhaps something for soreness?”
Jaime’s face burned with humiliation. He scrubbed harder, jaw clenched.
“I said go away,” he growled through the door.
Marta’s tone remained warm and motherly, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
“You know, it’s perfectly normal to feel a bit overwhelmed after such events. Especially for an omega whose alpha has been injured. The bond can make things very intense. If you’re feeling tender or emotional, I can prepare a nice soothing bath with lavender and—”
“I don’t need your fucking lavender, woman,” Jaime snarled, voice cracking with frustration as another thick glob of Robb’s cum dripped down his thigh. He wiped at it viciously. “Leave me alone.”
Marta hummed thoughtfully on the other side of the door.
“Very well, my lord. But I’ll just leave some clean towels and a pot of healing salve right here by the door. The king’s wound will need tending later, and you’ll want to be comfortable too. No shame in it, truly. I’ve helped many omegas after difficult nights with their alphas.”
Jaime pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, eyes squeezed shut, still frantically trying to clean himself.
“You insufferable, meddling—”
“I’ll check on you in a little while,” Marta said sweetly, completely ignoring his insults. “Try to rest, my lord. And remember, it’s alright to need comfort sometimes. Even lions need a soft place to land.”
Her footsteps finally retreated down the corridor.
Jaime stood there for a long moment, half-naked, thighs wet, breathing hard. The cloth in his hand was soaked with a mix of slick, cum, and cold water. He looked down at the mess between his legs and felt a fresh wave of humiliated anger wash over him.
He threw the cloth into the basin with a wet slap.
“Fucking everyone in this cursed castle,” he whispered bitterly.
But he still reached for the towels Marta had left outside the door, frowning at the small pot of salve. He dried himself roughly, wincing at the tenderness between his legs, then dressed in a clean tunic and breeches. The salve he left untouched on the floor.
He was just leaving the bathing chamber when a servant appeared at the end of the corridor, holding a sealed letter.
“My lord,” the boy said, bowing nervously. “A raven arrived this morning. From Casterly Rock. Marked urgent for you.”
Jaime stared at the crimson wax seal, the roaring lion of Lannister, for a long moment. The first letter from his father still sat unopened in their chambers. He had ignored it for weeks.
A bitter, self-destructive impulse rose in his chest.
Why not? he thought. Why not make this day even more complete?
“Give it here,” he said, voice flat.
The boy handed it over and scurried away.
Jaime broke the seal right there in the corridor, unfolding the crisp parchment with sharp, impatient movements. His father’s handwriting was as precise and merciless as ever.
Jaime,
It has been more than two moons since your wedding. I have received no word of a pregnancy. Not even a rumor. This silence is unacceptable.
The Lannister name is now tied to the Starks through you. Your failure to produce an heir is already causing whispers. Some say the Kingslayer has been rendered incapable, that the lion’s womb is as barren as his honor. Others suggest you are simply too proud, too willful, too defective to fulfill even this most basic duty.
I expected better from you. Do not make me regret allowing you this one final use. If you cannot secure a child, then you are of even less value than I feared. A lion that cannot breed is no better than a gilded mule.
Do not disappoint me again.
Tywin Lannister
Jaime read the letter twice, his face completely blank.
Then he let out a soft, hollow laugh that echoed down the empty corridor. The sound was ugly, devoid of any real humor.
He folded the parchment neatly and tucked it into his sleeve, right beside the still-unopened first letter.
“Defective,” he murmured to himself, tasting the word like poison. “How charming.”
For a moment he simply stood there, staring at the stone wall, green eyes distant. The sting of his father’s words mixed with the still-present ache between his thighs and the memory of Robb’s cruel voice earlier that morning.
He felt raw. Exposed. Like the entire world had decided today was the perfect day to remind him exactly how low he had fallen.
Jaime straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and began walking again, straight toward the godswood.
The ancient trees welcomed him with their usual silence. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the heart tree, its carved face weeping red sap like old blood. He stopped in front of it, staring up at those hollow eyes for a long moment.
For a long time, he simply stood there.
Then, slowly, his shoulders began to slump. The mask he’d worn since leaving the bathing chamber cracked and fell away. He sank down onto the cold stone bench, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.
A broken, bitter sound escaped him, not quite a sob, but close enough to shame him.
He had been the Kingslayer. The golden lion of Casterly Rock. The youngest knight to ever join the Kingsguard. Men had feared him. Women had wanted him. He had lived his life on his own terms, reckless, proud, untouchable.
And now?
Now he was here.
Married to a man who didn’t truly want him. Waking up alone every morning. Getting fucked like a whore and then discarded. Chased around by nursemaids and lectured by his mother-in-law. Reading letters from his own father calling him defective. Leaking another man’s seed down his thighs while the entire castle whispered about what a failure he was as an omega.
Jaime dragged his hands down his face, eyes stinging.
“I was supposed to be something,” he said hoarsely to the heart tree. “I was supposed to die gloriously, or live as a legend. Not… this. Not spreading my legs for a Stark pup who resents me. Not sitting here wondering if I even want a child or if I’m just so fucking lonely I’d take anything that feels like belonging.”
His voice cracked.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t let them fall, but they hovered there, hot and humiliating. He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, trying to stop it, trying to be a man, trying to be Jaime Lannister instead of this pathetic, broken thing he’d become.
It didn’t work.
The tears came anyway.
Silent at first, then sharper, hotter. They slipped down his cheeks as he hunched forward, shoulders shaking. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from making any sound, but a low, wounded noise still escaped him.
A lion should not cry.
But gods, he did not feel like a lion any longer.
He stayed there for a long time, bent over on the stone bench beneath the weeping red eyes of the heart tree, golden hair hiding his face as silent tears tracked down his cheeks.
No one came.
No one saw.
And for once, Jaime Lannister let himself break, just a little, in the only place in Winterfell that felt like it might not judge him for it.