Latest Posts by anewpersonthatexists - Page 5

i recognize that simon and edwin meeting and parting in hell is narratively very good and provides closure for all. but imagine if simon had agreed to try and escape with edwin. and charles doesn't have time to really question it, because anybody who likes edwin is aces in his book and it's hell, they need to leave. (edwin, out of courtesy to their third companion, puts his plan to confess on hold until they've escaped.)

suddenly the edwin harem of "supernatural boys who all hate each other but are attracted to that negative rizz" gains another member, and at some point edwin is going to have to mention that simon was the boy who sacrificed him to hell.

the chaos. crystal's bitchy commentary. charles going from friendly smiling to clutching his cricket bat. niko's whispering "200k slow burn schoolboy rivals to lovers" with heart eyes. it'd be chef's kiss good. edwin fleeing to his books and praying that nobody, but especially not the cat king, finds him because there has been SO MUCH emotion already. hysterical.

To Whoever told me to Watch Dead Boy Detectives I'm sorry it took so long I have failed you for waiting so long

More divorced dilf clark kent? 🙇🏻‍♀️

Like when Jon finds out his teacher and his father are dating?

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who is very careful when introducing the fact that he's dating his son's teacher to Jon. He's probably too cautious and nervous about the whole ordeal. Jon, however, just wants to know if this means that he still has to do homework.

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who does not take any shit from Lois when she inquires about the younger woman that Clark is dating. "You can meet her because she's around our son but no smart comments,"

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who loves writing articles while she's grading papers. The two of them are sharing a pot of coffee and her feet on his lap and it just feels so natural.

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who doesn't fully understand love island or most dating shows but if that's something his girlfriend is into, he's watching it. He likes watching it with her while she's doing her hair so she doesn't feel alone.

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who now has a copy of her skincare and haircare products just sitting in his bathroom for whenever she spends the night. It's been happening more frequent as of late but Jon doesn't seem to mind.

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who never thought that he would be considering marriage again. Especially, because he's a bit older but one day he sees her in a simple white dress before she heads off to work and he started looking at engagement rings on his lunch break.

Divorced DILF! Clark Kent who nearly chokes on his coffee when Jon asks for a brother or sister for Christmas.

Jace hockey Au where Cregan is captain and jace and reader are fwb. They inevitably catch feelings. One try to distance from the other, but Jace get hurt when you’re not at the game (hospital hurt) and maybe something about aegon hurting him and being in another team? I NEED a hockey au!!!!!!

Although I'm Canadian and should know a lot about hockey, my knowledge comes from going to my little cousin's games a few years ago and the hockey smut books from booktok. Don't take anything too seriously, there's high chances I made mistakes

Also, this is 3.2k and I don't know how I got there. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, smut, p+v, mention of fingering,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Tonight’s game against the Falcons had everyone on the edge of their seats up until the last second. The score was a tie and, with less than three minutes to the third period, the chances of winning before hearing the end buzzer were slim. Very slim. But not impossible because Jacaerys — thanks to a great pass from Cregan — skated his way to scoring the winning goal.

Music blared from the speakers of the frat house when the last of the Wolves bustled through the door, fresh out of their post-game showers and ready to party. 

Cregan and Jacaerys were at the front of the group, the former’s arm thrown over Jace’s shoulders and shaking him as everyone inside cheered and whooped for them. 

‘’Here come the MVP of the night!’’ Cregan shouted over the noise. ‘’Someone bring him a beer!’’ 

The chaos at the door pulled your attention from the story Baela was telling you, your eyes focussed on Jace who was laughing under his teammate’s enthusiastic grip, his dark curls still slightly damp from the shower.

Goddamn, he looked gorgeous. 

Baela smirked and nudged you. ‘’Looks like your boy just came in,’’ she pointed out, nodding towards the entrance where Jace was standing, still surrounded by the cheering crowd.

You tore your eyes away from Jacaerys. ‘’He’s not ‘my boy’,’’ you told her for the third time, rolling your eyes as you took a sip of your drink. ‘’We’re just friends.’’ 

‘’Whatever makes you sleep at night,’’ she teased, a knowing glint in her eyes. ‘’Or not sleep.’’ 

You mentally groaned. If you had been more careful, she would never have had this awkward run-in with Jace last Wednesday at the dorm and therefore would not know about you fucking the Wolves’ center player on the side. 

A beer was brought to him and he took a long and deserved gulp. More of his teammates crowded around him, accompanied by a hoard of puck bunnies. They were easy to recognize as they only hung around hockey players at parties. Most of the time, they didn’t know much about hockey, they only wanted to stroke a player’s ego in hopes of getting in their pants. 

You grimaced at the blonde hanging at Jacaerys’ arm and left to look for Rhaena, pulling Baela along.  

Later into the night, you were talking to Rhaena about Baela’s last Tinder date disaster when you felt a hand on the small of your back. Usually, you would have pushed them off you, but the smirk on Baela’s face told you exactly who it was. As if the woodsy cologne wasn’t enough.

‘’There you are,’’ he said to you, a beer in his other hand, then turned to the twins. ‘’Did you girls enjoy the game tonight?’’ 

Attending the Wolves' hockey games on Fridays had become a routine with your friends. It was a great way to unwind from school and encourage college peers. You used to go alone with Rhaena as you were both friends with Jace, but Baela began tagging along when she found out how hot their captain was. 

‘’Rhaena had to bail on this one. One of the baristas called in so she had to take an extra shift at the campus coffee house,’’ you explained. 

Rhaena nodded, annoyance toward her co-worker visible in her face. ‘’I heard you scored the winning goal. Congratulation!’’ She extended her arm to clink her beer with Jace’s. 

He thanked her, his hand slipping underneath your shirt to stroke your soft skin. You leaned into his touch, pleased with the discreet intimate touch. 

‘’So, how does it feel to be the hero of the night?’’ Baela asked, smirking again. 

Jace rubbed the back of his neck, his dark curls bouncing slightly. ‘’I would not call myself a hero,’’ he corrected, a shy smile at the corner of his lips. ‘’I couldn’t have done it without Cregan’s pass.’’ 

Across the kitchen, the girl who’d attached herself to his arm earlier seemed less than happy he was talking to the three of you. When Jace spotted her, he groaned. 

‘’Not again… I’ve been running from Clemence for the past ten minutes. Some girls can’t take a hint.’’ He didn’t want to leave — you didn’t want him to either —, but running from puck bunnies was sometimes easier than dealing with them. ‘’I’ll see you later?’’ he said to you, cocking an eyebrow as he waited for your answer. 

You nodded, impatient to get your mouth on that dick. 

⁂

‘’Do that again!’’ you begged, completely forgetting about the other Wolves players who had their rooms nearby. 

Below you, Jace gripped your hips and gave another upward thrust, making you gasp in delight as his cock hit every single good place inside of you. 

‘’Ah, yes!’’ Bracing your hands on his abs, you threw your head back, your perky tits swaying as you moved your hips and bounced on his cock, riding him until your legs were shaking from pain. ‘’I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,’’ you warned, starting to feel yourself approaching the edge.

Getting the message, Jace brought his hand to where you were joined and rubbed your swollen clit with his thumb until a long, drawn out moan left your lips, your orgasm hitting you like a brick wall, your pussy spasming around him.

You collapsed on Jacaerys’ chest, out of breath and eyes rolling into the back of your head as he continued to fuck into you, drawing out your orgasm until he finally reached his own. 

Despite the ache in your legs, you moved off him and flopped on the bed while Jace ran a hand through his hair. ‘’That was your reward for the goal you scored tonight,’’ you said, making Jace laugh as he tossed the condom in the trash. 

He rearranged his body so his head was on the pillow instead of the mattress, tiredness catching him after his game and the sex. ‘’I’ll try to score goal like that more often.’’ 

You joined him in his laughter. 

⁂

The next Friday, the Wolves were playing out of town…in another state. You tried to get a spot on the supporter bus, but all spots were already taken, forcing you to miss the game.  

You busied yourself for the night, making the last corrections on your paper that was due on Monday. It should have been finished days ago, but you got…distracted. 

At around 10pm, your phone buzzed with a text when Jace made it back to the bus. It was a picture of him in the darkness of the bus, a big winning grin on his face.

Jace: I expect a victory kiss when I get back 

Victory kiss he got when you saw him on Saturday at the Omega Phi party. 

⁂

When you started college, you promised yourself to never be the girl who gets fucked in a bathroom at parties, but here you were with your tits out and Jacaerys’s skilled hand under your dress. And you had absolutely no regrets. It was part of the college experience. 

You rearranged the bottom of your dress before slipping out of the bathroom and looking for your friends. Music pounded in your ears as you walked through the people, searching for a white-haired girl in a blue skirt. 

Baela had worn her most flattering skirt, set on getting Cregan’s attention tonight. They knew each other, but she was tired of being overshadowed by puck bunnies playing dumb or flashing their tits in his face. 

‘’Did you speak to Cregan yet?’’ you asked once you found her in the kitchen. ‘’I saw him in the living room with Benjen and Niklaus. No girls in sight. This is your chance if you—’’ 

Baela interrupted you, noticing the wrinkles on your dress and a mark on your neck.  ‘’Please tell me you were not doing what I think in a random person’s bedroom? Do you know the risks of getting an STI?’’ 

You poured yourself a drink, avoiding her eyes. ‘’I was not…doing that. I was also not not doing that,’’ you said, taking a sip to hide your smile behind your red cup. 

⁂

After Sunday practice, you met Jace and Cregan at the pancake place just outside campus. 

‘’Sorry, I’m late!’’ you apologized, walking over to their table in a sweatshirt and leggings. No other attire was acceptable on Sundays. ‘’I couldn’t find my dorm key and Baela’s dad is here for the weekend, so she was already out when I woke up.’’ 

Jace shook his head. ‘’It’s fine. I ordered for you already.’’

You slid into the booth, your stomach growling in appreciation. ‘’Thanks, I’m starving. Have you guys heard about Cassandra from Zeta Alpha Zeta? According to Rhaena, she was caught leaving a bedroom with Marcus at Omega Phi’s party…if you know what I mean.’’ 

There were likely kids at this restaurant, so you switched some of the vocabulary to spare their young ears and not receive looks from parents.

‘’The guy on the swim team?’’ Jace asked, raising an eyebrow.

You hummed as you took a sip of his berry smoothie, and dove deeper into campus gossips. Working at the coffee house had its perks: you were hearing all sorts of dramas. 

Before you, Cregan seemed less interested in the gossip than you and Jace, but he humored you with a nod. ‘’We can switch so you can sit next to your girlfriend,’’ he offered, starting to stand up, but Jace was quick to correct him.

‘’We’re not dating,’’ Jace said, a little too fast for your liking. ‘’We’re just friends.’’ 

Cregan snickered, settling back into his seat. 

⁂

You hated yourself for staying for a movie after sex, but you were unable to say ‘no’ to Jace’s Puss in Boots pout. Besides, you were friends before you added the benefits part. Watching movies was part of the things you did together. 

As the movie played, Jace broke the silence. ‘’I tried to call you this afternoon, and it went to voicemail. I thought you didn’t have any classes?’’ 

‘’I didn’t. I went to the library,’’ you replied, your eyes still on the screen, trying to keep it casual.  ‘’I was studying with a guy from my English class.’’ 

‘’A guy?’’ Jace’s eyes narrowed.

‘’Aemond. He’s in my English class—’’ 

‘’Are you kidding? Aemond?’’ Jace sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. He recognized the name instantly. ‘’You need to stay away from this guy. His brother is captain of the Dragons — our rival team. The same guy who bullied me at hockey camp when I was a kid. He’s probably just asking you out to piss me off.’’

A laugh escaped your lips, more incredulous than amused. ‘’Why would he do such a thing? Aemond is a nice guy.’’

Jace's frustration boiled over. ‘’You don't get it! That whole family is fucking snakes. During my rookie year, Aegon and I were in a corner of the ice and he chucked one of his teammates from behind and blamed me. I was benched for misconduct and not allowed to play for three weeks. And right now you’re giving him material to piss me off!’’ 

You sighed, still on your defenses. Being part of the same family doesn’t make him the same as his brother. ‘’Just because his brother was nasty to you doesn’t mean Aemond’s a bad person.’’ 

‘’He is! We play against the Dragons this Friday. Aegon is probably scheming something…’’ Jace ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, his voice rising. ‘’What are you doing?’’ 

‘’I’m leaving,’’ you said firmly, pushing off the bed. 

You moved around the room, searching for your things, fed up with arguing over an old hockey rivalry. What a moodkill to your night! You slipped your shirt on without another word and without bothering to look for your bra. Before leaving, you grabbed your jacket from the back of the desk chair, uncovering Jace's hockey hoodie, a stark reminder of what just set off this argument.

⁂

Three days went by without hearing from Jace. You saw him on campus yesterday, and he switched directions as soon as he spotted you. It was clear he was avoiding you, and you were doing the same.

Back in your dorm, you watched Baela getting ready, her makeup scattered across her bed. She hummed softly to a Taylor Swift song as she applied her lipstick. 

‘’I was kind of hoping we would have a girls night with Rhaena. Facemasks, sushi and rom-coms, like we used to,’’ you said, sitting on your bed, your voice tinged with disappointment. ‘’It's been so long since we last had one. I think the last time was for your birthday…which was three months ago.’’

Baela glanced at you, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. ‘’I know, I miss our girls nights too. But I’m seeing Cregan in fifteen minutes.’’ An exhilarated smile spread on her glossed lips. ‘’Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s happening!’’

You were genuinely happy for her, but a small part of you couldn’t help but wish Cregan would call and cancel at the last minute. Did that make you a shitty friend?

‘’Have you spoken to Jace?’’

You shook your head, fiddling with the bottom of your sweater. It’s difficult to talk to someone when you’re actively avoiding each other. 

Baela sighed, knowing drama would erupt when you agreed to this friends with benefits thing. She’s seen enough movies to know how it always ends. She reached for her shoes and purse, ready to leave. ‘’Rhaena is working the closing shift, so if you’re really lonely you can call her. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’’ 

You nodded and wished her a good time for her date. 

After she was gone, you hesitated for a moment before deciding to reach out to Aemond and asking if he wanted to get coffee. 

⁂

On Friday, Baela and Rhaena were at the game, so you found yourself alone watching Netflix in bed. The new rom-com starring Sidney Sweeney had just hit the streaming service and you were impatient to see it. The male protagonist had nothing appealing, but the storyline sounded fun. 

You were half-way through your bag of Skittles when your phone buzzed with multiple messages. You expected some of them to be from the girls updating you on the game, but you were surprised to see they were from Cregan Stark. 

Cregan: Hey, it’s Cregan. I don’t know where you are, but your boyfriend got hurt at the game. It’s bad. 

You almost corrected him about the use of ‘boyfriend’, but your heart stopped as you read the next messages. 

Cregan: Him and Aegon got into an argument before the game outside the arena and it carried on on the ice. During the third period, Aegon checked Jace and he flew right into the boards. He went down hard and got knocked unconscious. The medic team took him in an ambulance. 

Cregan: He’s at the hospital. Please come. 

You stared at the screen, the words blurring as panic set in. Just because you were not on speaking terms at the moment didn’t mean you didn’t care about him. 

You scrambled off the bed, grabbing your dorm keys and shoes with trembling hands. Within moments, you were out the door, your heart pounding as you took a cab to the hospital. Please be okay. Please be okay.

The journey there felt like an eternity. You re-read Cregan’s messages over again, the twins’s messages coming in at the same time. You ignored them, too into panic mode to type anything back. You arrived at the hospital, breathless and disoriented, and searched for a tall, bearded hockey player.

You found him in a hallway outside a rows of rooms, his face tense with worry. 

‘’Is he okay? Where is he?’’ you asked, your voice shaky. 

‘’He’s stable now, but they are keeping him for the night due to his concussion,’’ Cregan replied, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to your panic. ‘’I have to call his mom. And Coach, to update him on the situation. Can you stay here?’’

You nodded quickly. ‘’Yes. Of course.’’ 

You gave him a small smile, a silent promise to watch over Jace during his absence, and took a deep breath before nervously pushing the door open. 

Inside, the usually bright lights were dimmed due to the concussion. Jace lay on the hospital bed, looking pale and asleep. An IV was hooked to his arm, and the room was filled with the faint beeping of monitors. The door creaked as it closed behind you, causing Jace’s eyes to flutter open. He assumed it was either Cregan or a nurse checking on him, but it was you.

‘’Where’s Cregan?’’ he murmured, his voice raspy as he stared at the white wall. 

‘’Making calls,’’ you said softly, walking up to his bedside. Tears welled up in your eyes as you took in the sight of him. He was okay. ‘’You scared the hell out of me.’’

‘’Did you go out with him? Aemond.’’ 

His question took you by surprise. ‘’No. Not really. We just got coffee together—’’ 

Pain crossed his face, but it was not from the concussion. ‘’Do you know what Aegon said to me before the game? He talked about you. Said you dumped me for Aemond, and now it was his name you would be moaning in bed. I wanted to punch him so bad for speaking about you like that, but I didn’t because I knew I would be suspended from the team. It got my head out of the game. All I could think about was Aegon and knocking that stupid smirk off his face, but he got me first.’’ 

This Aegon guy sounded like the biggest asshole. 

‘’Aegon was lying, Jace. Aemond and I got coffee together, but that’s it. You can ask Rhaena if you don’t believe me, she was working that night. I never had any other intentions regarding Aemond. He said this to mess with you.’’ 

Jace sighed, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. He felt stupid for believing Aegon. He should have seen through his game instead of letting him get to his head. ‘’Of course he did… I should have known better.’’ 

You took Jace’s hand, only now realizing his other was in a brace. ‘’I’m here with you, aren’t I? Not with Aemond.’’

The corner of his lips curled into a smile, and he squeezed your hand. ‘’You’re my girl, okay? I know we said we were just friends, but are we really just friends? I didn’t write ‘mine’ on your upper thigh just because I was drunk. I wrote it while drunk because I didn’t have the courage to tell you I wanted you when I was sober.’’ 

‘’Jace—’’

‘’Don’t say anything. Just…kiss me. Please. I can’t do a lot of thinking because of my concussion, so let’s keep the talking for later, okay? Right now I just need you to kiss me.’’ You didn’t move, giving Jace the impression you didn’t want to kiss him. ‘’You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna force you to kiss me—’’

You cut him off with a kiss. Soft and slow, making up for the days you didn’t get to kiss him.  

Unfortunately, it ended quickly as a sharp pain stabbed at Jace’s temple and he couldn’t hold back his wince. ‘’I think we’ll keep the kissing for later.’’ 

—

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if the devil saw israel he would hand over his throne.

Benedict next season: Mother, what you and Father, and Anthony, and Daphne... and Colin... and Francesca... all have is rare.

Today, we get to reblog this

Harwin Strong x reader = well-fucked. (pleaseee?)

Lemon Cake (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex. Fake orgasm, then a real one. Communication with your partner is sexy. Talks of sweets because I am starving.

A/N: This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time, and I was thinking of writing a sex marathon for it, but then I had this thought… What about a reader that struggles to orgasm? That’s common for women. I thought that Harwin would be the one who cares the most out of all the HOTD men.

You do not come to the marriage bed an innocent. You are a noble girl from The Reach, and so, no expense was spared for your education. Your Lady Mother had made sure you came prepared.

So that’s why, in the middle of the act, as your new Lord Husband pushes and grunts, rocking his hips against yours, you suddenly clench down. You clench and unclench, and give a few undignified noises, and then go limp in his arms.

Pulling back from you, Ser Harwin, or just Harwin, as he has asked you to call him, looks perplexed.

You grin. You must have done well if he looks so amazed. Remembering your Lady Mother's advice, you smile at him.

“Thank you. That felt nice.”

“I am afraid…” Harwin frowns. “Did you… Um. Was that supposed to be…?”

Perhaps he needs help. Perhaps no other woman had done that for him, although you knew it was likely Harwin had his first time with a whore, and they were much better at pretending than you were.

“I finished. I had a great time, husband. You should be proud of yourself.” You smile at him, trying to get it to not sound rehearsed.

You had not, in fact, had a great time. It had been mostly an uncomfortable time. You weren’t totally lying, either. Some of his earlier caresses had been pleasant. But no matter how much he had prepared you for it, the breach of your maidenhead had hurt. Your body felt like it was not meant to stretch that way.

Then, you were too in your head to properly enjoy it, wondering if you were pleasing him. No matter if he was trying his best to please you, you were thinking about how your body looked, how you sounded. You just wanted him to be happy.

Harwin had been a wonderful betrothed. Calm, gentle and reassuring. He had taken time listening to you and getting to know you. Despite being very different from you, he had partaken in your hobbies and interests, to get closer to you. You felt he deserved a reward for it, something you could give to him in exchange for his kindness.

Hence, the false peak. Your Lady Mother had told you that men liked that sort of thing. They felt proud, when they could boast about how good they made their ladies feel. And men were less likely to stray when they found their wives fun to bed. You intended to be a joy.

“My lady.” Harwin pulled out of your body. You frowned, confused. “You certainly did not.”

“Yes, I did.” Your voice is gentle. Perhaps he needs extra reassurance. You have no problem feeding his ego, considering he has been really nice to you since you were engaged. “It was wonderful.”

“You did not. I will not ask you why you felt the need to fake it, but I will ask that you do not lie to me.” His tone is stern. You wrap yourself with the sheets, like a scolded child. Harwin stays silent for a moment, before placing a hand on your back. “Did you really enjoy yourself, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

“I was…”

“Be honest, wife. Remember your vows.” He interrupts, before you can think of a better lie. Harwin has a harsh tone that makes you understand exactly why he was made Commander of the Citywatch. You decide to drop the pretense, then.

The two of you don’t know each other well enough for you to know if it is safe to keep lying. Is Harwin good at catching lies? Is he observant? You don’t know. And in those cases, instead of digging a deeper hole, honesty tends to be the best policy.

“I wanted you to be happy, and proud.” Your tone is soft, still facing away from him. He lays down behind you, spooning you, and presses a kiss to your nape.

It’s a strange feeling. This was not how your wedding night was supposed to go. You had expected physical closeness and intimacy, but not this kind.

“I am certainly not.” But despite the harsh words, Harwin rubs his nose against your nape, sweetly. “Did you enjoy any of it?”

His tone is genuine. Curious, and not scolding. Perhaps, even the slightest bit guilty.

You are not sure of how to put it. It’s also not something you feel comfortable discussing. You are thankful for the fact that your back is to him, and he can’t see your expression. It takes you a while to have the courage to speak.

“I did, at first. But when you… When you entered me, it hurt. It was pleasant, I guess, after a while, but not really… Groundbreaking.”

It’s so awkward to say. You know this is not proper conversation, not even for a wife and a husband. The act is not meant to cause you any pleasure. It’s meant for Harwin to enjoy and to give you children. No more.

“Oh?” But Harwin doesn’t sound angry or scandalized. His tone is one of intrigue. You can feel his lips curling into a smile against the skin of your nape. “Do tell.”

You wonder how you could possibly explain. It finally occurs to you. You can compare it to something he will understand.

“It was like having a cake. Not a lemon cake, just a plain cake. Good, just not…”

Harwin chuckles, making you laugh too. The feel of the little huffs of air he lets up against your neck is quite ticklish.

“I get it. But I don't need you to fake your pleasure. I rather know I am not doing it right.”

“Is there a way for it to be enjoyable?” You look at him, over your shoulder. Curious, this time. If it was some other man, one less kind, you wouldn’t ask. “A right way?”

“Let me teach you.” Harwin whispers in your ear. His hands start mapping over your body. He caresses your neck, then your chest. His hands cup your breasts, softly massaging them.

It feels like before. Good. Warm. Arousal slowly starts to make all your hairs stand on end, breasts getting heavier, center going slick. Almost unaware of it, you moan. You can tell the situation is affecting Harwin too. His hardness, which had softened while you were cuddling, is back with a vengeance. It presses insistently against your behind.

Harwin trails a hand over your stomach, palm wide and warm. He lifts one of your legs, so it rests on his thigh, leaving you open to him. You sigh, sweetly.

“Like that?” He asks you, before lowering his hand towards something that makes you feel like you are on fire. His thumb taps lightly at it, and you moan. “That’s your pearl. If you rub it, it feels good.”

“Yes. Just like that.” Your head lolls over his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It suddenly isn’t enough. “The… Could you…?”

“Tell me.” Harwin kisses your jaw. “I want honest opinions.”

“Take your shirt off.” As Harwin shifts to comply with your orders, you notice he is hard again, poking at your lower back. “And… Um. Could we try again?”

“Try what?” He rubs softly at your pearl, making you mewl near his ear. Harwin chuckles, darkly.

You stare at him over your shoulder. You feel so embarrassed, you wish the earth would open and swallow you whole. Harwin grins, and does absolutely nothing. Even the fingers he has on your pearl stop.

“I want you inside me.” You finally say, when just being held starts being too little for you.

“Are you sure?” He presses a kiss to your temple, his fingers lowering towards your entrance. As soon as his hands are moving again, your hips buck against them, impatiently.

“You said there was a way for it to be pleasant. I want that. Show me.” Your voice comes out a little breathless.

“You are a wonder.” Harwin kisses you, softly. “My brave, gorgeous girl. I am so sorry for what happened before.”

“It’s alright.” But just as you are speaking, you feel him lining the two of you up. You do your best effort not to tense up or expect pain. Your words melt into a soft sigh as Harwin enters you.

Just as he did before, he stays still. The stretch is not nearly as uncomfortable as it used to be, but it’s still quite considerable. You doubt you will ever get used to his size. It feels as if he is pinning you into place. A bit overwhelmed, you search for his hand for reassurance.

“I was a bit overeager, before.” Harwin kisses your temple. “I wanted you so much, I wasn’t paying the attention you deserve.”

His hand caresses your ribs, softly. It tickles, and you can’t help but laugh. It prompts a chain reaction. Your laughter makes you clench up, which makes him groan and makes you laugh even more.

“That’s flattering.”

Your laughter buys you a much-needed respite. No longer does it feel like you are being pulled apart. Still, Harwin’s sad puppy look gets to you.

“I was too in my head. Just not in the moment.” You explain, not wanting him to feel bad about it. Because it’s the truth. You were the one who decided to fake a peak when there was no need for it. You have heard many ladies cried and yelled during their wedding nights, and their husbands didn’t even bat an eyelash. Harwin was not that kind of man. Had you been truly suffering, from what you had learned about him, he would have stopped.

If you had just allowed your face to show its true emotions, you were sure Harwin would have done something. But you had been too embarrassed and too caught up on making it good for him.

“I can keep you grounded, if you wish.” Harwin teases, kissing your cheek. His hips roll gently against yours, as if searching for something. Something he manages to find because you nearly jump from his arms when he touches something inside you that makes you see stars. “There?”

“There.”

He hugs you from behind, keeping the angle of his hips. This time, is more gentle, but much more precise. It feels good. Once again, it feels pleasant. Good. But nothing is happening. You start to get anxious. Why can’t you just get there? Will Harwin get bored with trying to indulge you? You would rather not be a burden to him, or get in between him and his pleasure. Perhaps it’s just not for you.

Harwin pulls you in for a kiss, without stopping the rocking of his hips.

“Are you still with me?”

You look at him, a little sad. You promised to be truthful, but you would rather not hurt his feelings. He is trying hard to please you, you can feel it. But it’s just not working.

“No. I am so sorry, husband. I am really trying, just…”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to stop?” Harwin kisses your cheek, not sounding too hurt. You risk a peek at his expression. His face is calm, encouraging, even.

“No.” You mutter. It comes out a little too sad because he boops your nose, making you smile on reflex.

“Here. Let me…” Harwin shifts you, from your side to sitting on top of him. The suddenness of the movement makes you yelp. “Use me.”

“What?” You cannot believe your ears. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his chest, bracing yourself. He smiles up at you, encouragingly.

“For your pleasure. Do what feels right. And if your thighs get tired, or your hips feel tight, tell me. I’ll help you.”

“I feel silly.” You complain, grabbing at his member. It feels warm and slick in your hand. Harwin makes a small noise at the contact, and you smile, sinking down on him.

It feels different immediately. It’s both deeper and increasingly intimate. But you feel self-conscious, staring him right in the eyes. There is no way you will be able to fake your pleasure now, not with his eyes on yours.

Shyly, you turn your head away from him.

“Don’t. You look gorgeous. The prettiest woman I have ever seen. “ His hand is gentle against your cheek, encouraging you to look him in the eye.

Harwin smiles softly. You smile back. And then, you arch your hips, searching for the right angle. He watches you, eager to learn how to please you. And you watch right back.

His face, going slack in pleasure. The way he grunts when you slowly get up and down, rocking your hips just so to get friction on your pearl. The way sweat starts to gather at his temples, making his hair stick down. It fills you with a secret thrill, pleasing him.

You want, no, need more. You rub at your pearl, yet it feels too rough to be enjoyable. Almost too dry. You whine. Harwin catches the hint immediately. He takes your wrist and presses a kiss to your palm, softly, before taking two of your fingers into his mouth. You startle a little, both by the contrast between the lewd action and the tenderness he treats you with, and how much into it he seems to be.

Harwin releases your fingers with a wet pop, giving you a naughty grin. You don’t need any further prompting. You feel almost uncomfortably wet now, after his display, but you still use the fingers he sucked to rub at your pearl.

It’s as if you are burning up. You are hot with need, thighs clenching and stomach tensing in preparation for something. Arousal thrums on your nerves, echoes in your bones. You are so close, a wave just about to crash against the shore.

Your eyes fall closed. It’s an impossible thing, you know. But you swear you can feel your pulse, beating under your fingertips, in that tight little bundle of nerves. You are starting to get tired, and you cling to Harwin’s shoulders desperately.

“That's it. Just like that, love. You are doing so good for me. Just a bit more.” His hand rubs your flank, softly. He is trying to encourage you, but you want to scream out in frustration. You are so close.

You grunt, thighs burning with exertion. It makes your rhythm falter. You sob.

“You can do it. Give it to me.” But you clearly can’t. Not on your own. So Harwin plants his hips and thrusts, aiding you along.

You moan loudly.

“Like that. More.”

He is quick to obey, helping you bounce up and down. As you finally, finally reach the peak both of you have worked so hard for, you lean in and kiss him.

“I love you.” And it's glorious. The best feeling in the world, warm in your stomach, body taut from head to toe. The wave finally crashing against the shore, a faint buzzing in your ears.

“I love you too.” Harwin says, squeezing your hands. He waits until you open your eyes and catch your breath, before rolling you over. “My turn.”

You laugh. He thrusts several more times, before falling on top of you. His face is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and you tell him so, enjoying his blush.

You stay like that for a while, before you get too impatient. You wriggle a little, feeling sticky all over, but Harwin just pulls you closer.

“So. Lemon cake or just cake?”

“Lemon cake. Definitely.”

Y/N: (He’s gonna think I’m so weird. Should I even say it? I really want to say it.)

Y/N: *outloud* H-Hey Matt… I really like you… As more than a friend.

Matt: *biting back a smile* Well, that’s great since we’ve been married for half a decade… I love you too, honey.

Love This however if this was me... We would be fighting

Ignored

Summary: Based on two requests; You had been best friends with Jacaerys since you were kids. But when he gets a girlfriend and joins the football team in college your whole life gets turned upside down and he's suddenly ditched you. A year after you are confronted by him and emotions spill to the surface.

w.c: 2.7k

c.w: Porn with plot, sub!jace, hand job, overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), car sex, im not good at angry sex or mean stuff guys so sorry,

masterlist

One year. one fucking year since you’ve last spoken to him. You never imagined the two of you would end up like this.

He gets on the college football team and gets some hot girlfriend and suddenly he’s too good for you. You doubt he’s even noticed. It was slow to start, he started being busy during your weekly hang outs, then it would slip his mind to text you back, then he just suddenly stopped texting you. You had been replaced, you would always spend the holidays with his family but this past year you had seen Lucerys post on his insta holiday pictures and she was there instead. Everyone else in his family had reached out to you at some point. usually something along the lines of a happy holidays and that they hoped to see you soon, that they missed you. They even wished you happy birthday. He didn’t.

You had gotten to the point you stopped answering his family's texts, it made you feel sick when Lucerys asked if you would come to his birthday party and you didn’t have the heart to reply to him. You stopped checking their socials, even going as far as to mute them but you didn’t have the heart to unfollow them. then it would get too real, that the people you’ve considered family since you were basically a baby were no longer around.

You wish you didn’t miss him. You wish when started at your aunts gravestone he was not the face that appeared in your mind when you wished you had someone to comfort you. She had died six months ago, you hadn’t even bothered to text him about it. He met her a couple times, but its not like he would care now.

You do not cry for her anymore. Having come far enough in your grief, but you feel yourself come to a halt when you are walking through the graveyard and are stopped by a familiar family.

“Y/n?” You feel a knot grow in your throat. Why were they here? you could see lucerys was holding some flowers. “Hello.” What else are you supposed to say? You are frozen in place as lucerys walks over and throws his arms around you. “I missed you.” You try not to let your tears spill down your face as Lucerys pulls back and looks at you alarmed, “Are you okay?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, unable to even describe what you’re feeling. “You’re so tall.” Your voice cracks as you speak and he slaps you on the shoulder. “’Course i am, had to get taller than mr prince charming over there.”

You don’t want to look at him. You wish he was not even there. But you cannot help yourself the way your eyes drift to where Lucerys is referring to and you wish you hadn’t. He is as beautiful as he was the last day you saw him, he looks like he just came out of a romcom, a long trench coat covering him and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. You have no clue what he’s thinking, his face giving nothing away, cant take your eyes off him. The way his eyes have a gloss over them as he takes a couple steps towards you.

You swiftly turn away from his and notice rhaenyra standing at your side and she reaches out a grips your forearm. “It is so wonderful to see you dear.” You nod and smile at her, “It is always a pleasure Ms. Targaryen.” she hits your arm, “You stay away for a couple months and suddenly I’m Ms. Targaryen, call me rhaenyra dear you know better.” You want to correct her, tell her its been over a year. yet you don't, only nodding and apologizing to her.

“What are you doing here?” Its the first words he’s said to you in god knows how long. You swear your knees almost crumple at the sound of his voice. You want to punch him, spit in his face, you wish you hated him. “My aunt died.” You spit at the ground, you voice coming out angrier than you indented it to.

The people around you immediately flood around to give their condolences. You thank them, Lucerys especially kept you in a deep hug and mentioned how they came today to see rhaenyra's father but they'll make sure to stop by your aunt’s grave.

He says nothing. nothing at all. You hate him. You hate him so much. But you cant say no when they ask if you’ll join them to see viserys and your aunt. you cant even say no when they offer you to join them for dinner.

you two say nothing to each other, not until you say you’ll drive in your car on the way there and turn to walk towards it, still having the map to their house memorized until you are stopped, a hand gripping on your forearm.

“Can i ride with you?” You don't turn around to look at him. Continuing to stare straight ahead, your heart and head churning. You want to tell him no, that you don't wish to ever even see him again. “Please.”

“Fine.”

But you're a pussy. the biggest punk in the whole world as you watch him slide into the passenger seat as you close the drivers door. A silence fills the space between you two, you don't want to speak, a part of you hopes it will stay that way.

“What happened with us?” You harshly break at the red light and whip your head towards him. Rage boiling at your skin as you hiss at him, “What happened? What do you mean what happened? You're the one who ditched me!”

“What the fuck are you taking about?” “Oh so you’re just gonna act like you didn't fucking stop talking to me after you a girlfriend? What is her name? i don't even fucking know because you never introduced us.” A loud honk behind you forced you to turn your head away from him and back on the road, you swear your knuckles turned white from the pressure you were squeezing it.

“i-” “No. Because you know what Jace. Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid face and your stupid girlfriend and your stupid friends because you fucking left me. You have no reason to sit around and ask me what the fuck happened between us because it was all because of you. i put in the effort to reach out i even sent you a fucking gift for your birthday because you couldn't spare the time to hang with me and you don't even text me a happy fucking birthday?!? Fuck you man.”

Your hands slam down on the wheel in frustration as you clench your jaw, the fucking nerve of this guy. You don’t even spare him another glance and he doesn't dare to say anything else for awhile. the drive is long, they were buried far out from your homes so the drive was over an hour.

it takes twenty minutes before he says anything. “I’m sorry.” It comes out strained, if you looked at him he would probably be crying but you do not dare look at him. “I wish i could explain to you why i did it, why i acted like that. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry i just think i liked the attention, i liked having people fawn over me. And her, fuck i don't know, i liked her sure, but she fucking cheated on me with one of the guys on the team, told me she only got with me to get closer to him. Its not an excuse, i should have never put what we had down the drain for someone that never really mattered because you, you matter to me more than anyone else. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, ill say it forever because i don't deserve your forgiveness.”

You pull over into a road side parking lot because you couldn't see the road anymore. Your eyes filled with tears as your shoulders shook with silent sobs, “I am sorry i made you feel this way, that you couldn't even come to me when she died, i liked it, i remember she gave me the toy car display i still have in my room fuck i can't even imagine how you must feel. I miss you. I miss you so much.”

You put your head against the wheel and allow yourself to sob. This is all you’ve wanted to hear for so long that now you have no clue how to feel. You want to tell him to fuck off. That he has no reason to be begging for your forgiveness now.

“Jacaerys,” You swear you hear it wrong, that you must be confused. He whimpers. “No please,” “Its dragged out in a way that has your stomach churning and you shift in your seat. “Don’t call me Jacaerys, Jace please.”

You must be strong. You cannot give into to his sad puppy eyes and cries. Yet you look over to him and feel your resolve crumble. He has tears streaming down his face. He’s looking at you. Has he been looking at you this whole time? “You left me Jace.” He lets out a trembled breath as he dares with shaky hands to grab yours. “I'm sorry. I will beg you to forgive me till the end of time because i will never deserve it. I need you.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as the two of you stare at one another. You feel your hands shake in his grip as the two of you unknowingly move closer to each other.

“I realized after i found out what she had done i was more upset about the fact you were not there more than anything. She had begged me to take her back but the only thing i could think about was you. I was so stupid and so blind i will never forgive myself. You are everything to me.”

“Jace,” He cups your cheeks and lets out a trembled breath, “I was a fool to let you go. I will never make that mistake again,” You cannot believe what is happening, he does not truly mean what you think he’s saying does he? “I had months to think it over. I am so madly in love with you. If you do not feel the same i will act like this never happened and we can just go back to being friends or even if you cannot stomach being around me we can just never talk but-”

He lets out a surprised moan as you shove your lips against his and eagerly pressed his lips against yours. He a lot more vocal than you had expected him to be, eagerly humming against your lips as his hands have moved to your neck.

He lets out a shocked gasp when you push him back into his seat and looks at you with wide eyes as you climb over his lap, pulling the level to have him lay over his back and simply stare at him as you hover above him. He whimpers as you grab the front of his shirt and pull him towards your face, “This is for me. Not you. Right?” He eagerly nods, more than willing to take anything you’ll give him.

He whines as you unbutton his black dress pants and waste no time shoving your hand past his boxers and gripping onto his dick. His head is thrown backwards as you rub your thumb against his tip, ignoring his mumbles until enough precum has dripped down onto your hand before you begin vigorously pumping him up and down.

You do not stop even as he’s asking you to slow down. Well you do, but it is always right before he’s about to come. You do this again. and again. and again. He feels like he’s about to burst, the stimulation is too much for him to bare.

“Please.” You tilt your head at him as he grips the front of your button down shirt. “What do you want?” Your words are spoken like he a stranger approaching you on the street, he whimpers and shoves his head into your chest, his tears threatening to spill out. “Please,”

“awe are you so fucked out you have no clue what you’re talking about huh?” He’s babbling nonsense as you feel his tears pool into your shirt. You fully remove your hands off him for the fourth time and he thinks he might crack. “Please no I’m sorry I’m sorry please please just let me,,” His words trail off as he watches you fully release him from his pants and boxers, his breath shaky as he watches you pool up your shirt and move to hover above him.

“Please please.” “Shut the fuck up.” He whimpers as his tip presses against your folds but you don’t him in enter yet, simply allowing his tip to be dragged up and down your slit. He throws his head back as the tears continue to flow down his face, he can’t take this, his hips rise up to try and thrust into you but you hold him down and spit at him. “You don’t know how to behave slut.”

He lets out a surprised gurgle of sounds when you suddenly slam all the way down onto him and lightly slap him across the face. “Are you happy now slut? You happy your little loser friend is fucking you stupid?”

He can barely speak as you begin to bounce up and down on him. He’s dreamed of this for much longer than he’d like to admit but this is much better than anything he could have imagined. The way your lightly let out sounds of delight are like music to his ears. He wishes he could say something but over the heat that flows over his body and the way he feels your hands slip under his shirt and begin to rub up and down his chest he can’t find the words.

He keeps his hands at his side, not knowing if he is allowed to touch you not wishing to upset you more than he already has. You notice the way his hands twitch and slightly raise as if he wants to reach out to you. You slow down for a moment to grab his hands and place them on your chest, a wordless exchange between the two of you as he stares at you in wonder. So much love fills his gaze you almost flush with embarrassment. You begin to pick up your pace once again as he fondles you over your clothes.

The pit grows larger in his stomach much faster than he would like but due to the overstimulation and the overflowing of emotions he’s on the edge. “I’m so close.”

“Hold it.” He whines and watches as one of your hands slip under your skirt, “You think you should be allowed to cum before me?” He shakes his head, of course not, he doesn’t deserve too.

He swears he almost cums from your blissed out face alone, but he is surprised he manages to contain himself until he feels you throb and your essence drips around him. You slowly lift off him and pump him until his cum drips down your hands.

The car windows are foggy, you have no clue how long you’ve been out here but the sun as begun to set as you allow yourself to fall against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically as his arms come to wrap around you.

“I don’t forgive you,” He feels his heart drop as he gulps, bracing himself for you to lift off him and drop him off at his house, never to speak to him again. “But i think i can one day, you just have to take me out on a couple dates first.”

He grins.

Perm Jacaerys taglist

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife @jacesvelaryons

by nuqui_herping

Hallelujah

Just a little idea that came to me while listeni g to Hozier. demigod!Miguel x reader

The legends of our world tell of a son of Zeus who fell in love with a human...

You.

From the moment Miguel saw you dancing by a creek bed, he'd fallen madly in love with you. It hadn't taken an arrow from cupids bow to fill his heart with passion for you.

So great was his love for you, Miguel had done the one thing forbidden all others besides Zeus himself. He stepped off Mount Olympus and into our world for you.

In his mind there was nothing that should keep you apart.

Zeus begged to differ.

So great was his love for his son, and yet so grave was his transgression, Zeus couldn't bring himself to unleash his anger on a favored son, he therefore turned his anger on you.

In a blind rage, Zeus cast one of his thunder bolts and struck you while you were again beside the same creek bed you'd first met Miguel...

And turned you to stone.

Miguel was beside himself with grief when he discovered you. For a fortnight he kept vigil by your stony form, clinging to you with naught but the sweet memories of the tender love making and quiet walks you two had indulged in by this creek.

After the full moon came and passed; however, Miguel summoned his strength and resolved to see you restored, even at the cost of his own life. Zeus merely scoffed at what he saw as the petulant demands of a child and taunted his son.

"She deigned to seduce a son of Zeus, it is her fitting end to stand as a warning, be thankful you don't stand with her."

"I'd rather stand by her in stone then spend another day with this splinter in my heart. She is all of me, father, she is the blood in my veins, the thrum of my heart, and every day that I pass without her, my will to exist grows weaker. I am naught without her."

Zeus cursed at his son's 'folly' and turned his back, signaling he would say no more. Another, however, was moved by the young lovers plight.

Persephone, wife of Hades.

So taken by lover's plight, as she was prone to do, Persephone gave Miguel a vile, but warned him,

"I cannot undo what your father has done. If you drink of this vile, your loved one will again draw breath...but at a cost..."

In his haste Miguel drained the vile before listening to the rest of her warning. No sooner had thr liqiluid passed his lips that he felt a strange pulling withing his heart. Dropping the vile, he looked up at her expectantly. Persephone considered him with sad eyes.

"Your love breaths, but she shall not remember you. For every breath she draws, for as long as she exists, you shall forever follow after her and she shall forever forget you."

"I'll find a way."

Dropping the vile, Miguel descended Olympus for the final time, determined that amongst the ages to come, somehow, and somewhere, you'd find a way to love again.

@feyhunter78

omg you liked Louis and Mary too? Because it’s such a rare thing - they had THE CHEMISTRY, and I will continue saying he was willing to do more for Mary than Francis did, was willing to compromise to her cause. I’m so mad how they painted Louis as the bad guy at the end as if Francis didn’t fuck it up over and over again.

He just did what Mary wanted him to do, so I felt like the way they ended their relationship was so stupid and they did it only to have Francis die like early the next season w Mary crying, like, give me break. Francis character should’ve died way early because the real Francis didn’t even last that long, he lasted less than a year as a king.

Augh I LOVED THEM !!!!! I have been a fan of Sean Teale for years and I was stoked he was on reign, and they had BONKERS chemistry! Honestly ik it wasn’t how it went historically but they stopped following history closely like... in the pilot lol. Like ik Frary was her epic love but Louis should have been her endgame and this is the hill I will die on he did nothing but love her.

They could have had him come back after Francis died too!!! Like!! Come on!!!

I don't know if this makes me toxic but after Francis slept with Lola literally root for everyone but him

watching s2 of reign has reminded me how much I adore louis conde. francis can kick rocks.

Hello there! My family needs to leave Gaza out of necessity . I suffer from nightmares that are so closely resemble reality that I no longer Differentiate between reality and a dream.Thank you for taking your efforts and time in reading my plea. There are no words to describe the horrors unfolding in this place,never expected to find myself in this situation. Because of this horrible situation I have decided to come before you guys for a financial support so that I can evacuate my family from this hell that we are into.The funds will be strictly used for the evacuation . I will personally bear any additional expenses incurred.Your support will make a significant difference in alleviating the suffering of my family ,We urgently need any kind of support before it is to late. As time ticking away translates to lives lost in Gaza I'm here and ready to answer any questions or concerns you may have.Kindly reach out and connect with me

I'm so sorry, I have no means of money because I am a young teenager who isn't allowed to work. But I will continue to spread the word of this war and this time of need.

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swing open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside the sound of his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

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"I don't have a type-"

oh apocalyptic father figures...

girlhood is staying up late to read the top posts in an x reader tag

Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

Graffiti spotted in Quebec City