#hvitrulv

[myrc3lla]

“It’s no easy task, to wed a stranger.” (@hvitrulv)

Myrcella   sat   on   the   edge   of   the   bed,   her   nightgown   soft   but   unfamiliar   against   her   skin.   The   chamber   was   warm   with   the   faint   glow   of   firelight,   but   the   tension   between   them   hung   as   heavy   as   winter’s   chill.   She   glanced   at   Jon—Jon   Stark   now,   her   husband   by   command   of   King   Rhaegar—and   for   a   moment,   her   stomach   tightened.   His   words   lingered   in   the   air.

She   swallowed,   her   fingers   playing   nervously   with   the   fabric   of   her   nightgown.   It   was   true,   in   many   ways,   they   were   strangers   now,   shaped   by   different   paths.   But   there   was   something   there—something   faint   yet   familiar.   She   gathered   her   courage   and   looked   up   at   him,   offering   a   tentative   smile.

“We   knew   each   other   once,”   she   said   softly,   her   voice   breaking   through   the   awkward   silence.   “I’m   not   so   much   a   stranger,   am   I?”   She   tilted   her   head   slightly,   searching   his   eyes   for   recognition,   for   a   shared   memory.   “I   was   were   once,   as   a   child,   though   I   believe   you   never   glanced   at   me   once.”

There   was   no   malice   in   her   tone,   only   a   quiet   reflection,   the   words   as   light   as   a   breeze.   Her   smile   grew   a   little   more   as   she   added,   “I   always   thought   you   found   me   dull.”

[zokladraconis]

@hvitrulv 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙   𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖉   𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖑   𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖞   𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖊𝖓   𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗,   𝖍𝖎𝖘   𝖗𝖊𝖉   𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘   𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊   𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓   𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖘   𝖎𝖓   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖉𝖎𝖒   𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖗. The   scent   of   winter   clung   to   the   stones,   cold   and   biting,   but   Ghost   barely   noticed.   His   focus   was   on   the   door,   on   the   woman   inside,   and   on   the   faintest   of   sounds   that   echoed   through   the   hall.

Servants   and   knights   had   approached   throughout   the   day,   their   footsteps   hesitant   and   uncertain.   Some   had   come   with   purpose,   others   out   of   mere   curiosity.   But   each   time,   Ghost   had   met   them   with   a   low   growl,   his   hackles   raised,   lips   curling   back   just   enough   to   show   the   sharp   points   of   his   teeth.   It   was   enough   to   send   them   scurrying   away,   muttering   about   the   direwolf’s   foul   mood.

Ghost's   ears   pricked   up,   and   his   tail   gave   a   slight   wag.   The   tension   in   his   muscles   eased,   the   growl   that   had   been   forming   in   his   throat   vanished.   Jon’s   presence   was   as   familiar   to   Ghost.   He   watched   as   Jon   approached,   his   dark   eyes   meeting   the   direwolf’s   gaze.   Ghost   leaned   into   the   touch,   his   eyes   half-closing   in   contentment.   The   scent   of   Jon,   of   cold   steel   and   leather,   was   comforting,   a   reminder   of   their   bond.   With   Jon   near,   the   need   to   protect   was   tempered   by   the   trust   he   had   on   him.

[d0reah]

@hvitrulv 💋

The   grand   hall   of   Winterfell   was   filled   with   the   boisterous   sounds   of   celebration   and   the   hum   of   conversations   merged   into   a   single,   hearty   melody   that   celebrated   the   newfound   unity   between   the   North   and   Daenerys   Targaryen's   followers.   Doreah   watched   him   with   keen   interest   her   eyes   sparkling   with   mischief   and   determination.   She   had   waited   for   the   right   moment,   biding   her   time   until   Jon   Snow   was   momentarily   alone.   She   had   told   Daenerys   how   she   wished   to   have   her   own   taste   of   a   Northern   man   and   she   sees   no   better   example   of   one   than   the   King   in   the   North,   at   least,   the   other   part   of   the   diarchy.   She   swears   his   eyes   look   almost   black   and   are   filled   with   intent.   They   say   he   was   a   dead   man   and   yet,   he   is   there   for   her   to   see,   she   wonders   if   he   bears   the   scars   of   battle,   and   she   wants   to   see   and   touch,   and   bring   comfort.  

"Your   Grace,"   she   murmured,   her   voice   a   sultry   whisper   that   cut   through   whatever   he   was   thinking   as   he   had   moved   to   the   hall   and   Doreah   ahd   been   haste   to   follow,   leaning   against   the   frame   of   the   hall   wall.   Doreah   turned   to   face   Jon,   her   hand   moving   to   hold   and   grip   his   jerkin,   she   does   enjoy   the   foreplay   but   she   had   seen   his   eyes   too.   She   wasn't   the   only   one   who   seem   to   look   for   company   among   the   room.   She   stood   on   her   toes,   her   lips   a   breath   away   from   his.   "It's   rare   to   find   a   moment   alone   with   a   king,"   she   whispered,   her   voice   dripping   with   playful   intrigue.

  Before   Jon   could   respond,   she   closed   the   distance,   her   lips   brushing   against   his   in   a   fleeting   kiss.   She   kissed   him   again,   this   time   more   lingering,   her   hands   sliding   up   to   rest   on   his   shoulders.   She   helps   the   hesitation   by   placing   the   hands   among   the   pearls   that   stand   by   her   dress   on   her   waist   and   look   at   him   through   eyelashes.   Her   eyes   locking   onto   his   with   a   smoldering   intensity,   once   his   hands   are   placed,   she   returns   them   to   his   jerkin,   playing   with   the   fabric   as   she   whispers   to   him.   "Do   you   want   some   company   tonight?"   Her   question   hung   in   the   air,   filled   with   promise   and   temptation.

[myrc3lla-a]

❝ No one will see us here by the springs. ❞ ( @hvitrulv )

"We   are   outside."   The   princess   points   out.   It's   not   as   cold   as   she   expected   it   due   to   the   vapes   of   the   springs   but   her   mind   is   concerned   with   what   exactly   he   wants   to   do   in   the   springs   themselves   considered   she   told   him   her   dream,   the   dream   that   ignited   everything.   She   is   no   longer   a   prisoner,   but   a   guest   and   more   now,   as   he   shares   her   bed.   "I   said   I   wished   for   a   bath   at   the   springs,   you   are   just   joining   to   disrupt   my   thoughts."  

They   are   on   opposite   ends   of   the   springs,   her   hands   wrapped   around   her   chest   while   looking   at   Jon   with   amusement   as   he   looks   so   handsome   there,   her   lips   curve   into   a   smile.   Of   course   he   would   be   here.   "What   exactly   you   think   we   will   be   doing   that   needs   to   be   concealed?"   Myrcella   points   out,   shifting   with   the   water   to   press   herself   to   him   on   the   water,   arms   around   his   shoulders,   her   hand,   wet   as   it   was,   fixes   loose   curls.   "My   ladies   will   be   coming   here   in   20   minutes."

[snoblomst]

@hvitrulv asked: You're not nothing to me. That's precisely the problem.

"Why   is   it   a   problem?   Because   I   am   no   lady?   No   title?   Your   crown   and   blood?"   None   of   that   truly   matters   in   their   north.   But   Val   can   survive   the   harsh   winters,   she   can   survive   these   silly   courtly   affairs.   "For   the   name,   you   can   still   say   I'm   a   princess,   your   southern   folk   seem   to   see   me   that   way."   And   if   it   serves   the   free   folk,   then   so   be   it,   she   will   be   their   little   paraded   figured.   She   approaches   Jon   in   turn,   her   hands   moving   to   press   over   the   sigil   of   his   house.   He   is   wolf,   he   is   the   north   and   he   is   hers.   "I   am   Val   of   the   North.   And   if   you   must   give   me   a   house   then   name   it   Weirwood,   for   the   Gods   are   mine   to   serve."   She   takes   one   of   the   silk   garnments   she   wore   on   her   hair   now,   little   adornments   the   young   girls   of   the   castle   seem   to   enjoy   placing   on   her   hair   and   she   ties   it   around   her   palm,   the   other   piece   holds   his   own   hand   and   repeats   the   motion.  

"I   have   told   you   plenty.   I   am   yours,   søtvinter.   In   all   the   ways   a   woman   can   belong   to   a   man   and   further   so.   I'm   from   the   true   North   and   you   have   that   in   your   veins,   do   you   understand?"   They   were   to   be.   He   had   told   her   he   would   no   longer   deny   himself,   then   why   he   keeps   doubting   these   matters?   Val   is   ready   to   take   him   by   his   coat   and   do   one   of   those   silly   ceremonies   they   do   in   his   North.   Still,   she   continues   to   tie   their   hands   together.   "   What   an   Image   we   make.   You,   me   and   Ghost.   The   image   of   a   godswoods."

[asshaid]

She   expected   him   to   ask   this   sooner   or   later.   He   had   share   her   bed   for   days,   weeks   perhaps.   He   seem   to   be   enjoying   his   new   life   and   release   all   the   energy   he   had   pent   up,   but   now,   in   the   afterglow   of   moment,   she   is   not   told   to   leave   or   leave   on   her   own   accord.   Instead,   she   had   expected   the   question   as   her   hands   trace   the   injuries   on   his   chest,   the   injuries   she   had   treated   and   used   magic   to   bring   back.

❝ Did you know they were going to kill me? ❞ (@hvitrulv)

"I   warned   you.   Daggers   in   the   dark.   You   mistrusted   me   then."   Melisandre   speaks   in   turn   as   she   remembers   the   reason.   Visions   are   not   often   what   they   seem.   A   girl   in   a   dying   horse,   a   sister.   Except   it   had   been   Alys   Karstark   who   looked   like   a   Stark   are   distant   kin   on   a   dying   horse,   and   then,   moments   after   he   was   brought   back,   a   sister   on   a   horse,   just   not   the   sister   he   thought.

  "I   do   not   blame   you   for   not   trusting   my   word.   It   is   not   easy   to   interpet   dreams.   They   are   given   to   me   but   only   I   see   them."   And   it's   her   who   interpet   what   she   sees.   A   heavy   burden   but   one   she   had   for   a   long   time.   "Your   old   Maester.   Maester   Aemon.   .   .he   told   you   to   kill   the   boy,   let   the   man   be   born."   The   words   come   to   her   in   distant   whispers   of   the   death,   the   shadows   are   hers   to   speak   through   too.   "The   boy   is   dead.   A   man   is   born."   

[sandsheir]

The   North.   It's   the   opposite   of   what   she   needs   and   comes   from.   Dorne   is   warm,   the   North   is   cold   but   both   of   them   are   desert   lands   in   their   own   way   and   their   people   are   built   special   in   their   own   ways.   The   now   King   in   the   North   is   a   bastard   as   they   call   him   but   he   is   poised   like   a   man   in   position.   He   wears   the   clothes   of   a   lord   who   was   crowned   and   by   his   side   the   direwolf   that   marks   the   new   sigil   of   his   house,   with   red   eyes   staring   back   at   her.  

She   had   removed   her   coat   once   inside   warm   walls   and   her   eyes   look   back   at   Jon   with   intent,   her   smile   growing   at   his   words   as   he   does   and   she   pours   wine   for   the   both   of   them.

“Is this how you negotiate in Dorne?” (@hvitrulv)

"I   barely   take   my   coat   off   and   you   think   this   is   me   trying   to   negociate?"   Arianne   jest,   bringing   him   the   cup   of   wine   for   him   to   held   but   she   does   keep   a   short   distance   between   the   two.   "And   to   answer   to   your   question,   no.   Though   sometimes   it   does   happen.   My   uncle   Oberyn   often   said   that   the   best   negociations   can   be   done   when   one   is   cloud   minded   and   managable."  

Would   agree   to   whatever   agreeable.   "But   I   would   not   dare   to   negociate   like   that   with   you   unless   you   wish   me   to.   That   would   be   another   ordeal."   A   small   laugh   sparks   as   she   takes   the   ale   to   her   lips   and   looks   back   at   him,   eyes   never   leaving   as   lips   are   tainted   by   the   wine.   "How   do   you   negociate   in   the   north?"

[northsballadmoved]

you see it now with your own eyes. ― @hvitrulv.

she had heard what they spoke of him at the wall, how they revered him beyond just a leader breaking barriers and uniting peoples; they'd whispered that he'd risen from the dead after being betrayed by his sworn brothers. that the red witch had used her magic to sew his soul back to his body. jon had never spoken such from his own lips, and sansa had never asked, afraid to pry too deeply into such a traumatic event whether or not his heart had truly stopped. ( how could she be expected to believe something that sounded so similar to folklore? ) but those scars . . . she feels her breath catch. no one could survive wounds like that.

she is stricken, and then at once feels shamed; here jon stands with his truth bared, and she cannot even utter words or an apology for something she was not meant to see. sansa attempts to swallow the feeling of her heart balled in her throat and tentatively steps closer to him, giving him the chance to pull away if he does not wish for empathy; she understands that touch is sometimes the hardest affection to accept. ❝ . . . it seems that we starks are full of strangeness, ❞ she offers quietly, a feeble smile barely touching the corners of her mouth. but she is looking at him, not the scars marring his torso. his face, so alike to their father ―― and his eyes, grey as a stark's but dark as dusk. had her mother truly hated him for this?

something in her chest tightens and she is reaching forward to cup either side of his face, urging his head to tilt ever so slightly so that she may press her lips to his brow. compassion that she had been too proud, too foolish to give him as children, and to think . . . she had almost lost him forever without even realizing it. ❝ you are still my brother, whatever has happened to you. ❞

[rosecrowned]

𝓣𝐇𝐄  𝓕𝐀𝐈𝐑  𝓡𝐎𝐒𝐄  ⊱  Indie  Margaery  Tyrell.  Primarily  book  &  headcanon  based  with  show  influences.  Low  activity. Private.  Multifandom.  Loved  by  Mari  (she/her,  21+).  This  blog  contains  heavily  mature  and  potentially  triggering  content,  so  please  explore  at  your  own  discretion.  Read  the  rules  before  interacting  !   personals  &  minors  dni.

heavily   affiliated   with   :    drageulv  &   isefyres   &   all   of   cali's   blogs

♡  𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃  ♡  𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒  ♡  𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓  ♡  𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒  ♡  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋

[myrc3lla]

5. one muse takes the other from behind (@hvitrulv)

He   does   have   a   ferocious   appetite.   And   the   princess's   own   had   to   be   awaken,   only   in   her   fantasies   she   ever   dream   of   this.   She   had   heard   it   too,   Arianne   never   spared   detail   when   she   came   to   her   with   curiosity   after   stealing   books   regarding   what   men   and   women   do   once   the   Dornish   realized   the   girl   had   bled   and   she   feared   the   marital   bed.   This   is   no   marital   bed,   yet   perhaps,   but   it   is   a   bed   and   his   body   presses   her   down,   his   knees   delightfully   separating   her   legs   as   waist   is   arched   for   him   to   have   her   all   to   himself.  

Blonde   curls   fall   around   her   back   as   she   tries   to   peak   behind   her   and   see   because   gods,   she   should   be   ashamed   to   be   like   this   before   him.   Instead,   she   is   still   wet   and   feels   her   body   quivering   and   he   had   placed   his   tongue   everywhere   on   her   to   the   point   she   might   need   more   than   one   bath   after   it.   She   feels   the   weight   of   his   cock   on   her   back   and   then,   a   familiar   yet   odd   feeling   as   he   presses   through,   taking   her   from   behind.

  "⸻Oh."   She   whispers,   hands   gripping   the   sheets   tightly   as   he   slowly   tortures   her   as   he   slides   inside   her   .   And   when   he   is   fully   seated   inside   her   and   the   princess   bends   her   body   toward   the   bed,   resting   her   head   on   an   arm,   she   feels   the   delight of pleasure.   "Yes.   Are   you   going   to   tease   me   and   stay   there   still?"   She   jest,   emerald   eyes   looking   at   grey   ones   until   she   feels   him   moving   and   she   is   prisoner   to   the   feelings   he   gives   her.   "God,   Jon.   Please   keep   moving."

[d0reah]

@hvitrulv asked: ❝ Did I say you could stop? ❞ + 2. one muse rides the other

𝕯𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖍'𝖘   𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘   𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖑𝖊𝖉   𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍   𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋   .   𝕯𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖍'𝖘   𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞   𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖙𝖊𝖉   𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔   𝖍𝖎𝖘,  her   hands   tangling   in   his   hair   as   he   ravaged   her   mouth.   She   felt   a   rush   of   excitement,   her   heart   pounding   in   her   chest.Her   body   glistered   with   sweat   and   golden   hair   is   pushed   away   from   eyes   as   she   looks   and   feels   the   grip   on   her   waist.   "No   you   did   not,   my   king."   Doreah   jest   with   his   title   but   she   adjust   herself   once   more   on   his   cock,   allowing   the   moment   to   pass   through   as   she   feels   her   wetness   allowing   him   such   easy   entrance.   "Is   that   what   you   want   tonight?   For   me   to   ride   you   until   you   come   inside   me?   Or   perhaps   you   want   my   mouth?"   And   she   licks   her   lips   at   the   thought,   drinking   every   last   drop   of   him.  

This   time,   Doreah   rode   him   again,   her   arms   behind   her   so   she   uses   his   thighs   to   support   herself   and   begin   to   grin   down   on   him,   her   breast   moving   with   each   thrust   of   her   frame.   "Gods,   your   cock   is   so   good.   You   know   that?   I'm   so   full   already."   Right   on   the   threshold   she   loves,   pain   and   pleasure   going   in   hand   and   he   does   it   all   for   her,   the   marks   on   her   body   say   it   as   much.   She   punctuates   her   words   with   each   movement   of   her   hips,   blue   eyes   on   grey.  

"Put   your   hand   in   my   pussy   and   feel   me   too."   Her   movements   become   more   precise   then,   as   she   feels   muscles   on   her   frame   begin   to   quiver   with   the   sensation,   feeling   she   is   getting   close.   But   gods,   she   wants   him   to   come   first   and   unravel.   "I   can   let   you   have   my   ass   too,   if   you   want.   Do   whatever   you   want   with   me   and   watch   me   take   it   as   I   do   now."   

[myrc3lla-a]

@hvitrulv asked:❛ i think things that i shouldn’t. i dream things that i shouldn’t. i want things that i shouldn’t and it’s all because of one thing; i do care about you. ❜

   She   makes   no   claims   to   know   how   his   mind   works.   He   spoke   of   his   connection   to   Ghost   and   he   sees   through   him   but   there   is   something   else   inside,   is   it   not?   Jon   Snow   sees   more   beyond   just   his   direwolf.   It   might   concern   others   and   push   them   away   but   Myrcella   knew   better.   She   is   safer   anywhere   but   in   King's   Landing.   His   bed,   her   bed,   is   safer   when   she   has   him   around.   "Why   you   shouldn't?   You   are   no   longer   Lord   Commander."   She   had   seen   the   scars   on   his   body.   The   betrayal   written   in   his   skin.   He   was   betrayed   and   left   dead,   until   the   priestess   brought   him   back.  

"You   can   have   whatever   you   want.   Me   included.   For   I   too   care   about   you,   more   than   I   should've."   Her   hand   reaches   for   that   dark   hair   of   his,   that   falls   over   his   eyes   and   she   brings   his   head   closer   to   her   own,   pressing   forehead   to   forehead.   "Sullen   boy,   you   are   no   longer.   It   is   okay   to   dream   of   things,   of   having   needs   and   wants."

[snoblomst]

asked: ❝ I’ve no intentions to leave this room anytime soon. ❞ ( @hvitrulv )

"Hm."   And   Val   stirs   on   her   side   of   the   bed.   His   room   had   become   hers   already.   Her   small   cabin   hers   to   spend   the   days   but   nights   are   often   spend   here.   "What   of   your   kingly   duties?"   The   wielding   jest   in   turn,   wrapping   the   sheet   over   her   chest   with   one   hand   as   she   turns   to   face   him,   his   back   to   her   and   her   hand   reaches   to   his   shoulder,   making   him   lay   down   again   and   rest   beside   her.

  "I   am   not   one   of   your   kingly   duties,   as   much   as   I   do   enjoy   your   lord's   kiss."   Val   laughs   at   ease,   to   lean   and   kiss   the   crook   of   his   shoulder.   If   he   is   like   this   now,   Gods   forbid,   she   would   have   to   get   ready   to   not   leave   the   room   either.   Her   crow   was   now   a   wolf   and   he   had   the   appetite   of   such.

[asshaid]

Death   is   not   gentle,   specially   not   to   come   back   from.   She   had   done   the   ritual   properly,   the   sacrifice   of   Mance   Ryder   before   them   and   those   who   died   after   the   mutiny   had   served   their   souls   for   him   to   be   brought   back,   and   Ghost,   beloved   to   her   by   now,   has   harbored   his   soul.   But   he   was   more   wolf   than   human   at   times,   and   his   anger   matches   that,   he   no   longer   wears   the   black   of   the   rangers   of   the   wall   and   he   sports   the   colors   of   his   House.  

He   is   King   now,   he   is   her   prince   that   was   promised,   though   he   never   lets   her   say   it   so.   Sometimes   he   asks   her   advice   but   more   than   anything,   he   takes   out   his   emotions   with   her,   and   as   the   instrument   of   his   resurrection,   Melisandre   takes   it.

❝ Fuck the bed. I’ll have you right here. ❞ (@hvitrulv )

"The   door   is   not   close."   She   speaks   in   jest   but   she   does   not   mind   for   people   to   see   her   being   taken.   She   been   made   to   do   worse.   To   be   seen   in   pleasure   with   the   wolf   of   winter   is   a   delight,   her   back   feels   the   small   cold   of   the   walls   as   her   legs   hicked   around   his   waist   and   she   struggles   to   free   him   from   his   breeches   and   adjust   herself   against   it.  

"The   window."   She   speaks   to   wrap   her   hands   on   the   upper   handles   of   the   window   that   assures   the   cold   would   not   come   through   and   like   this,   she   is   leaving   him   to   take   her   as   he   wishes,   her   breast   at   perfect   height   with   his   mouth   and   her   body   lean   as   her   hips   move   and   tease   the   tip   of   his   cock   through   loose   breeches.   

[northsballadmoved]

i'm in one of my moping moods tonight. ― @hvitrulv.

sansa knew something was amiss the moment he declined her invitation to the dining hall. jon never was one for socializing but duty, he rarely let go unfulfilled. she could sense the dark cloud weighing over him from the doorway where she stands, but his words only prompt her to fixate him with a knowing look; brooding is all too common for him, and this is clearly something else entirely. a soft sigh expels before she crosses the threshold to where her brother sits at his desk, propping a hip against the corner with a quick glance over the blank parchment splayed across it. her gaze flits to his visage, then, soft but appraising; jon is hard to read these days, oftentimes blank as stone. she knows him, still.

❝ are you? here i thought we were celebrating another winter night survived without notable incident, ❞ she ventures for a light attempt of a jest, waiting a moment to gauge his reaction. when she leans forth to adjust the clasp on his shoulder, the silver that declares his station as hand of the queen, she does so with a fond smile. ❝ come on, ❞ she implores gently, nudging his shoulder with the back of her hand before she pulls away. ❝ you promised you wouldn't make me deal with the lords alone. ❞ it would be good for the both of them, she thinks. and when sansa asks here, in the quiet of jon's chambers, it isn't as the queen to her hand; but as a sister beseeching her brother.

[myrc3lla]

❛ 07 . a kiss to say what you can’t say aloud . ( @hvitrulv )

𝕿𝖍𝖊   𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙   𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖉   𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖘   𝖔𝖋   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗,   𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖆   𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞   𝖌𝖑𝖔𝖜   𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖉   𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖘   𝖆𝖓𝖉   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖙𝖜𝖔   𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖘   𝖑𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓   𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒.   Golden   hair   fanning   out   across   the   pillow,   a   stark   contrast   to   the   dark   curls   that   framed   his   face.   The   warmth   of   their   bodies,   so   close   together,   was   a   comfort   Myrcella   hadn’t   known   she   needed   until   now.

She   stared   at   Jon’s   profile,   tracing   the   curve   of   his   jaw   with   her   eyes,   memorizing   every   detail   as   if   afraid   it   might   all   vanish.   What   had   begun   as   a   reckless   affair—born   of   desire   and   the   intoxicating   thrill   of   forbidden   passion—had   transformed   into   something   neither   of   them   had   anticipated.   It   was   more   than   just   lust   that   drew   her   to   him   now.   Words   tumbled   in   her   mind,   trying   to   grasp   the   depth   of   what   she   felt,   but   they   slipped   away,   elusive   and   inadequate.

She   turned   towards   him,   her   hand   gently   resting   on   his   chest,   feeling   the   steady   rise   and   fall   of   his   breath.   He   stirred,   his   dark   eyes   meeting   hers,   and   in   that   moment,   she   knew   he   felt   it   too—the   unspoken   truth   that   neither   dared   to   voice.   There   was   a   rawness,   a   vulnerability   that   came   with   it,   and   Myrcella   found   herself   caught   in   the   storm   of   emotions   that   swirled   between   them.

Myrcella   leaned   in,   closing   the   distance   between   them.   Their   lips   met   in   a   kiss   that   was   slow,   deliberate,   and   achingly   tender.   It   was   a   kiss   that   spoke   of   more   than   just   physical   desire;   it   was   a   confession,   an   offering   of   everything   they   couldn’t   articulate.   Her   fingers   tangled   in   his   hair,   and   she   poured   every   unsaid   word,   every   unvoiced   fear,   into   that   kiss,   hoping   he   could   feel   it   all.