Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12982716.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Robb_Stark/Sansa_Stark, Jon_Snow/Sansa_Stark, Jon_Snow/Robb_Stark/Sansa
      Stark, Talisa_Maegyr/Robb_Stark, Catelyn_Stark/Ned_Stark, Ashara_Dayne/
      Ned_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Starkcest, Sibling_Incest, Infidelity, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
      Divergence, Canon_Divergence_-_Red_Wedding, N_plus_A_equals_J, Dark_Robb
  Series:
      Part 8 of Infidelity_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-11 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 2250
****** Wolves Mate For Life ******
by Dirtykinkylove
Summary
     "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell" is as ubiquitous a
     saying in the North as "Winter is coming," or, "the North remembers."
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
"The baby is soon to come," Talisa whispered against his throat, her hand
grasping his to bring it to her swollen belly. Robb fought his instinctive
revulsion and allowed it, pretending the hardness beneath his palm was
something...anything else...other than the symbol of his failure as both a man
and a king. His love for his wife curdled in his breast and sometimes, in the
depths of the inkiest of nights, he wished he had never met her, or worse, she
had gone to the Red Wedding and had her belly ripped open by a treacherous Frey
bannerman, an act that would alleviate him of his wedded state. The wedded
state that brought about the destruction of his allies and nearly his entire
House because he couldn't keep his cock sheathed in cunts that wouldn't be
seeded.
"It'll be a boy, I can feel it," she continued, her wistful voice loud in the
hushed silence of their room. Robb prayed daily in the godswood that he
wouldn't be saddled with her son, that the Stark heir wouldn't be born from the
belly of a woman he loathed and whom none of the North would bend a knee to. He
knew by the averted eyes of his men and servants that the Lady of Winterfell
wasn't well liked, merely tolerated for his sake.
"What should we call him?"
Deathbringer. Oathbreaker.
"Your choice, milady."
Gone were the days of joy at the syllables of her name on his lips and heat to
his loins. Now her very presence grated against his skin, until he wanted to
jump into the coldest stream to scrub her from his flesh.
But this was his penance. His pigheadedness and disinclination to listen to
Mother had wrought this.
"Robb?"
"I should check on Sansa," he replied, putting word to action as he fairly
leapt from his bed and gathered his furs about his body. Sansa was both a worry
and an escape from the prying gaze of his wife, who half-sat up in bed, the
firelight limning her. Once he would've sighed at it, but now he turned away
and slipped out the door into the cold hallway, walking towards the solar she'd
taken as hers. Robb had no desire to take his parents chambers so when he
returned to Winterfell, he retained his chilhood room. When Sansa returned from
the South, brokered in a deal with King Stannis that ended Robb's attempt to
secede the North from the Seven Kingdoms and a guarantee to remain Warden, he
gladly gave her the largest rooms.
There was a faint moan behind closed doors and Robb grinned, his mood abruptly
lightening. He pushed the chambers doors open enough to slip into and shut them
immediately behind him. It wouldn't do for anyone passing by to see what he
saw: Sansa lying before the fire, unclothed with a Stark brother between her
creamy thighs. From his angle, Robb could see his bastard brother's tongue
swirling around the small bud while two fingers frigged Sansa, her wetness
apparent by the slick sounds.
"Don't you dare stop, Jon, or I'll whip you like a dog," she threatened,
thrashing beneath Jon's ministrations. Neither sibling heeded his presence and
Robb sat at his usual place, a chair near their entwined bodies, his laces
already undone as his flesh rose at the delicious sight. He palmed himself,
enjoying the pressure, but didn't go any further. He wanted something else
tonight.
"Put our bitch on her knees," Robb directed, his voice curt with command. Jon's
face rose from their sister's cunny, his face wet with her, and urged Sansa to
turn, her head now by Robb's knees. A dark thrill lanced through him at how
easily he controlled his younger siblings, how they submitted to his authority
as was his right as Lord of Winterfell. Sansa's eyes, so much like their dead
mother's, met his equally blue eyes, and she smirked, an edge to her beauty
that didn't exist before her journey to King's Landing. Robb knew of the pain
and torture she went through, the scars both seen and unseen she carried, but
Stark blood bred true despite her Tully exterior. She was a wolf bitch at
heart, as wild and free as the direwolves that circled Winterfell and protected
them, and she proved it when she swallowed his cock to the root, forcing a gasp
of surprised pleasure to his lips.
He would never say it aloud, but Robb blessed whomever taught her suckjobs
because she was exceptionally talented, knowing how to tuck her lips back
around her teeth to avoid injury, and also how to twist her tongue up and down
his length even as the tip nudged into the soft pillow of her throat. He'd been
with whores who couldn't do as good a job, and it was his sister who could make
him seed her with a few minutes in her mouth. He wanted to kill the men who'd
hurt her, but he couldn't deny Sansa was the perfect mistress, loving to fuck
no matter which hole was used or the time of the month. She'd gone to the South
a thirteen year old girl and came back a slut, but Robb would kill for his
slut. It made him wonder if Arya returned, if she would be as good a fuck as
her older sister, if he would be able to bend her over his desk and feast on
her slit, make her beg to be buggered, hold her down and watch Jon fuck her
until she screamed.
Robb groaned long and loud as his release hit him at the thought of both
sisters, one fucked on his cock while the other sat on his face, flashed
through his mind. Sansa swallowed like a good girl and he slumped back in his
chair, content to watch Jon slide inside her cunt to get his prick wet before
spitting and spearing her arsehole, hunched over her back as he pounded into
her.  Sansa folded beneath his weight so her upper body was pressed to the
ground while her hips remained propped up. Robb had spent many nights
wondering, cock in hand, who the first to bend her like this was: Jamie? Had he
left his twin's cunt long enough to deflower the eldest Stark girl? Or was it
good King Robert, fat and lumbering but enjoying the fruits of his best
friend's loins? Could the imp have crawled into her bed and slithered into her
with his deformed body? Maybe Joffrey had finally figured out that a girl's
hole was better than his hand and used it? Or, and this was probably more
likely given his nature, he'd brought in his guards and gave them free reign to
his noble born bride.
"Fuck this is the best cunt I've ever had," Jon groaned into Sansa's back, his
hand curved beneath her. Jon was good at remembering to give their sister
pleasure, gentler and needier than Robb. Of course, he sometimes forgot it was
Sansa beneath him and would moan "Catelyn" which gave insight to his thinking
more than Jon probably knew. Robb wondered sometimes if the fact Jon was the
mirror of Ned and Sansa of Cat was what propelled his brother into fucking her;
a way of getting the love neither parent ever truly afforded him. As to why
Sansa allowed it? Well, her reasons were her own and nothing Robb really wanted
or needed to know. 
"It's the only cunt you've ever had," Sansa retorted, even as the urgings of
her hips showed how close she was to the precipice. There was no sign of the
little lady she was raised to be with sweat and other bodily fluids gleaming on
her body. The sight often brought Robb to his knees, needing to mark her to
show ownership of her; in these moods he would make her repeat over and over
who she belonged to, until her throat was raw with screaming and she was hoarse
for days. 
Robb watched as Jon pulled out, his long thin cock pulsing as he spent on the
backs of her thighs and her lower back. It was an unspoken agreement among the
three that the first child she bore would be Robb's, though there was no danger
of that yet since she faithfully drank her moon tea daily. If Talisa dared to
give him a son, Robb was half-determined to leave the baby to the wild, and
plug Sansa full until she was fat. He understood the Targaryens more so than
ever, knowing even the thought had his Stark ancestors rolling in their graves,
but he would never allow another Stark to fall. It was why he called Jon back
from the Wall despite knowing his brother was breaking every vow he had taken.
It didn't matter, of course, because Jon belonged to Robb as surely and easily
as Winterfell did. Jon was an extension of Robb who was an extension of him, ad
nausem, and the Nightwatch couldn't stand against that. 
He remembered growing twisted and curved around his littler brother despite the
screeches and hatred of his mother; he'd never understood why Cat had hated Jon
so dearly until he'd learned of his father's indiscretion during the war that
lead to Jon's bastardy. Robb thought, with age and hindsight, that his mother
had hated Jon not so much for his ignoble birth (or not as much) as an enduring
symbol of Ned's love for another woman. Ned, the man known throughout the Seven
Kingdoms as honorable, had forgotten his marital vows and his honor when he'd
lain with the sister of his enemy; though his love for Ashara hadn't precluded
his familial obligation to kill those standing between him and his sister. Robb
wished he could've asked his father how it felt to kill his lover's brother and
bring her back the sword, trading it for his son she'd born him in secret.
Sansa whined and Robb stirred, mentally and physically, and urged her to sit on
his lap, cunt sliding down his interested cock until he was snug inside her.
She lay her head back against his shoulder, legs spread wide and vulnerable,
and Robb felt Jon's tongue lapping at the juncture where they were joined. He
bit at Sansa's throat, low enough to be hidden by her day gown, and tightened
his hold on her hips. 
"How's your wife?"
The tartness of Sansa's jealousy was as delicious as the lemoncakes she
favored. 
"With child."
Jon's beard tickled as he chuckled. "Will you banish her once she's brought to
birth?"
Robb closed his eyes as Sansa rolled her hips in a way no lady would know (he
knows this because his wife was timid and shy in bed).
"I cannot." Both Stark siblings raged that Talisa wasn't truly his wife since
they weren't married in the godswood as every Stark was since Bran the Builder,
but Robb knew his mistakes with the Freys due to his marriage to Talisa had
lasting consequences, and those who continued to follow him despite the Red
Wedding would abandon him should he set aside the very woman who was the cause
of the destruction. After all, it was her pregnancy that saved Robb's life as
he was late to the fateful dinner and escaped the trap set for everyone.
But if Talisa and the babe she carried were to die during childbirth...well,
that's the gods' wills and beyond the ken of mortal men.
"Want to know a secret?" Sansa whispered. "I want you to fuck me full of child
and let a true Stark rule the North."
Robb felt feral anger spiral through him at the thought his first child
wouldn't be with Sansa, and he pulled her off his cock before pushing her back
onto her knees and hands, his forceful thrust into her wetness bringing a low
moan to both.
"I'll breed you, wolf bitch, and when I'm tired, Jon will take over. You'll be
so fucked full of seed, you'll drip, and everyone will know who you belong to."
Jon snarled, his gray eyes nearly black, and he fisted red hair as he pulled
Sansa's head back to stare her fully in the face. "What do you say?"
"Please breed me, fuck me, fill me, make my cunt drip,"  his proud sister
begged, her cunt rippling around his cock like a tiny mouth. Robb knew he
should feel ashamed at how easily he spurted, but he continued to fuck through
his own slick until Sansa finally fell into her own pleasure again. Robb pulled
out and flopped down besides his heaving sister who's head was still twisted at
a weird angle as Jon hadn't relinquished his hold on her. The noisy sounds of
kissing filled the air, and Robb smiled, content with the world as it was
arranged to suit his needs, even as the world raged on outside the walls of
Winterfell.
Soon he would have to stand and go back to his rooms and his lady wife so as
not to arouse suspicions, but for now he would lie here and watch as Jon spread
Sansa's legs again, intent on cleaning Robb's spend from her cunt. He would
relish the life he'd built in the ashes of his family'd destruction and think
upon how he would never break the vow to have Stark in Winterfell, no matter
what he had to do to achieve it.
End Notes
     Rightly or wrongly, Robb blames Talish for the destruction of his
     allies at the Red Wedding and turns from her towards his siblings for
     comfort and love.
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