#jon snow oneshots

[tessimagines]

welcome back!! for the celebration, could I please request ❤️Jon Snow🥰

Little Snow Angels // Jon Snow

Summary: fluffy papa Jon

Masterlist | Game of Thrones Masterlist

Wordcount: 297

Tiny snowflakes embedded themselves in the dark curly locks of the three-year-old as he bent down, his little gloved fingers digging into the snow. The same snowflakes found their way into the hair of his father above him.

Jon kneeled behind his son, his hand resting gently on his back. When little Ned stumbled, Jon caught him and helped him to stand upright again. There was a warm smile on his lips, one that could have melted the snow around him.

Jon picked his son up and laid him down in the snow. You watched as his hands guided Ned's little arms and legs outwards and back inwards towards his body. You could hear the giggles erupting from him, loud and clear in the cool winter's air.

When Jon picked your son back up out of the snow, he made sure to point out the shape sitting in front of them. "Look," he said, his voice light. "You made a little snow angel."

Ned continued to laugh, bringing his hands to clap together. "You make one," he instructed, pointing down to the snow next to his own snow angel.

You watched as Jon placed him back down on his feet and climbed down into the snow himself. Ned continued in his raging storm of laughs and squeals as Jon dragged his arms and legs back and forth through the snow.

When Jon stood back up, there was now a larger imprint in the snow bedside the miniature one. Neds little hands were clapping for his father, a smile beaming on his cubby face.

Jon's eyes made their way across the field, where they locked with your own. He smiled at you affectionately as he picked your son up in his arms, waving you over to join them.

Thanks for requesting anon!

Check out my Back-to-Writing Celebration or my general requesting guidelines and make a request here

[princessswon323323663fu]

[halles-notebook]

bathing with jon snow

(suggestive blurb?)

hear me out. he would be so unbelievably gentle with you, your body’s both engulfed in steaming water with flushed cheeks. (from the heat or each other?) he would tentatively brush your hair over your shoulder and away from your smooth back, lightly grazing it with the sopping bath sponge filled with flowery-scented soap over every ridge and tiniest crease of your skin.

his mind would be so foggy and his eyes glazed because everything smells undeniably like you and your so so close and he just can’t take it. he’d rub in your shampoo so delicately, taking care not to pull on any knots or cause any discomfort. rinsing it out might just be his favorite part, watching your blissed expression as he gently scrunches the water out of your soft hair.

poor baby wouldn’t know how to act when you turn and give him your prettiest grin, doe eyes staring up at him in admiration, telling him that it was his turn. he just about short-circuits. when you reach for the more “manly” smelling suds, he grabs your wrist carefully, eyes pleading with you to just not.

you would giggle, “you wanna smell like me, baby?” and his cheeks would flame but he’d nod anyways. “mhm, every one’s gotta know ‘m yours, don’t they?” and now it’s your turn to blush. the GROANS he would let out as you rake your small hands through his knotted curls would be enough to send any woman to heaven.

and when you set down the sponge and instead decide to use your hands to rub your scent all over his scarred skin and ridged abs? oh yeah he’s done for

[sarahisslytherin]

the hour of the wolf.

jon snow x reader

summary: your nightmares of king's landing follow you to castle black. jon does his best to comfort you.

contains: angst, talk of sa, ptsd, crying, hurt/comfort.

a/n: this one's bittersweet, also first jon and official got fic!

word count: 0.7k

Wind howled outside your cabin at Castle Black, the sound not unlike a ragged scream. You had heard screams like it, had heard them leave your own lungs on several occasions over the past years. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying for sleep to drag you away from your thoughts. But in the pitch black of your chamber you saw the face of every man who tried to hurt you, tried to put their hands on you. You squirmed and writhed and howled but they gripped you all the same. It felt real, too real. You choked on a gasp as you shot up in bed, the cold hitting you like a wall of ice. You were covered in only the thin layer of your smallclothes and the furs that blanketed the bed. You would find no rest here, at least not tonight.

You laid on layer after layer, preparing for the day ahead even though it was the middle of the night. But you had to do something, anything but lie there and relive the horrors you experienced in King’s Landing. You tugged on your furs as you left your room, the harsh northern winds paralyzing you momentarily. Your boots thudded against the wooden floorboards as you made your way through the corridors and down to the courtyard. 

There he was, cloaked head to toe in fur. His sable curls ruffled in the wind, snowflakes catching in them as they fell. Your friend from childhood, the first person you thought to run to once you’d escaped the claws of King’s Landing. Jon Snow. How he had held you when you arrived at Castle Black a fortnight ago, your eyes sunken and your skin pale. You had run to him with a fervor you hadn’t felt in years. You had wept onto his shoulder, nestled deep into the furs as he held you like he would never let you go again. And now here he was. Awake, like you, during the hour of the wolf.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice gravelly and laced with concern as he watched you trudge towards him through the snow. You shook your head in response. “I know the feeling”.

You came to stand beside him, observing the snow-covered railings. “Does it ever get easier? Sleeping, living?”

He was quiet for a moment, considering his words. “It does.” he decided. “The wounds heal over time. They become scars. You remember how you got them but they don’t sting the way they once did.”

You prayed he was right, prayed the gods would be merciful with you in a way they hadn’t for so torturously long. “I have tried to be strong, Jon. But I feel I can’t go on anymore. It is all-consuming. I lie awake at night and I see their faces.”

Jon’s whirled in your direction. You hadn’t spoken to him about what you’d suffered just yet, though he was dying to know. “Whose faces?”

Your mouth went dry. “Joffrey, Cersei, Meryn Trant, the executioner. Men who had taken me and tried to have their way with me. They flash before me when the world grows too quiet.”

Jon’s eyes did not leave you as you spoke. “If I had known, I would have put a stop to it.”

“How would you have stopped it?” you snapped, glaring at him in a way you knew deep down he did not deserve. “There was nothing you could do, nothing I could do.”

Jon came up close to you now, a gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek. “You are strong. Six hundred men here and you might be the strongest of us all. Aye, we might be able to cut down our enemies, but none of us would have endured a fraction of what you did. You are as much a warrior as any man here, do you hear me?”

A single tear slid down your cheek, and Jon was quick to wipe it away. “I hear you.”

“If anyone touches you, calls you a name or so much as looks at you a certain way- you come get me, and I’ll take care of it. Understand?” he pleaded with you, and when you looked into those deep brown eyes of his you wanted to cry.

“Thank you, Jon.” you whispered, burying yourself in the crook of his neck as he cupped the back of your head. He shushed your quiet sobs with all the patience in the world, placing a ginger kiss on your temple.

“I love you.” you sighed into his ear. It was the first time you had ever spoken of the sentiment you knew existed between the two of you. And you decided to breathe life into it with words. “I have always loved you.”

“So have I, love.” he choked out as he held you flush against him. “You’re safe now. Try and get some sleep. I'll stay right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You knew you would sleep easier in the hours to come, but for now you just held onto the one thing in your life you knew you could trust.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @shemisseshome

[justanoasisimagines]

Reuinted

Summary; Jon dreams of being reunited with you, but what happens when he does. Pairing; Jon Snow x Female Reader WordCount; 548 Warnings; Strong Language A/N; Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune for the divider and the banner

Since the day Jon left Winterfell and took the black, a lot had happened. He'd been tried and tested beyond his wildest dreams or night terrors. Yet by the grace of the Gods, he'd survived.

Jon was forced to adapt and change. To fight for his life, he barely had time to himself. To think of anything but the challenge in front of him. Yet when he could his mind drifted to the wellbeing of his family, to you and his son.

A night of passion after moons of tottering around each other. Subtle glances and touches, softly spoken words of admiration before it all boiled over.

It had been the final straw for Catelyn. her husband's bastard having a bastard child of his own. His father promised to take you in, to give the child and yourself a comfortable life.

Many moons had passed, and the boy would be five name days old. He'd heard no word if either of you were alive or dead. It troubled his thoughts knowing he'd never held his son. He'd never confessed to you, your son was more than a night of lust, but rather love. If he was being honest, he'd loved you the moment his eyes laid on you. It didn't matter the length of time passed, he'd always love you.

"Lord commander there is someone here to see you." Ser Davos instructed. Jon quietly shoved the thoughts aside as he strode around the familiar passages. As he reached the steps leading down to the courtyard. He froze.

A tall blonde woman who appeared with a dark-haired man, perhaps a squire stood in the center. Yet it wasn't them who'd stumped him. Sansa was standing in front of them holding the hand of a dark-haired little boy, the spitting image of himself.

Gods, please don't let this be a dream.

Jon took his time making his way down each step. His eyes were firmly placed on his family, terrified of them disappearing.

Sansa threw herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly, he'd been apart from his family for too long. Over her shoulder, he caught you lifting your son into your arms saying something to him.

Once he and Sansa parted. She stepped to the side, a look of knowing. Jon suddenly felt unease settle in his stomach as he slowly approached you.

Jon took a long pause. Jon couldn't believe the years apart had enhanced your beauty. His son appeared to be strong, dressed in warm furs in his house colors. A proper little Northern Lord.

Jon couldn't speak. He'd imagined this scenario a couple hundred times, yet he couldn't speak. He didn't have words. What should he say? What could he say?

"You are finally in front of the woman who blesses your dreams and you don't speak. Can your son speak?" Tormund interupted his thoughts. Jon smiled as his son giggled at Tormund's odd question while he buried his head into your neck.

"He's a little shy at first but he'll warm up soon enough. Hello Jon." Hearing your voice broke Jon out of his indecisive state, he crossed the distance between you bringing you both into his arms, holding on for dear life. He refused to let you out of his sight again.

[miss-celestia13]

Howl for Me

“As I said, cruel.” His hands fell away from her chest, grabbing her hips and stopping her from wriggling, his fingers dragging up the skirt of her gown by inches. “I should deny you. Teach you a lesson for abandoning your King.”

A snarl curled her lips as she turned to look at him, shadows casting his face into something otherworldly. His glossy slate eyes, as changeable as the weather, pulled at and stared through her, a tingle in her chest dripping down and into her core, where it burned like wildfire.

“If you dare, I shall hold a dinner with the King and Queen every night for a moon’s turn,” she threatened, though her voice shook as his calloused fingers ghosted her bare thigh and his knee parted her legs.

Daenerys leaves Jon alone to host a dinner, knowing he will use his frustration to her lusty advantage once he comes to find her. It works better than she anticipated.

[mkstrigidae]

Coming back from the dead is the kind of thing that can really fuck up your weekend, as Jon has recently found out (especially considering that he’d paid a mint for those concert tickets, thanks). On one hand, the bureau paperwork is horrifying, and the less said about his skyrocketing health insurance premiums or this year's taxes, the better. On the other hand, though, Sansa Stark, the pretty head of the medical/pathology research division and long-time object of Jon's affections, has insisted on giving him her utmost attention until she’s sure he’s back on his feet and fully among the living.

[sprintingfox]

New fic is out! Zokla (Theon Grejoy x OC) is available on Quotev, Wattpad, and Archive Of Our Own!

-

Past full-length ASOIAF fics (completed):

1. Breaker, Broken (Targaryen OC x Jorah Mormont)

2. Ursa Major (Umber OC x Tormund Giantsbane)

3. Northern Sun (Lannister OC x Robb Stark)

-

Past ASOIAF one-shots (found in the Sprinting Fox: Unwritten book):

1. Targaryen OC x Aegon Targaryen II (HotD)

2. Targaryen OC x Otto Hightower (HotD)

3. Lannister OC (DARK HotD AU) *easter egg of this found in my Robb Stark fic!*

4. Storm OC x Jon Snow (GoT, very brief, no interaction, only fic set-up)

5. Targaryen OC x Jacaerys Velaryon (HotD)

6. Lothbrok OC x Daenerys Targaryen (GoT / Vikings)

-

Future ASOIAF fics:

1. OC x Viserys Targaryen (GoT S1 - onward)

2. OC x Yara Greyjoy (GoT S1 - onward)

3. HotD OC (HotD S1 - onward) *no true love interest + may have darker themes*

-

Potential One-Shots

OC x Cregan Stark

OC x Rhaenyra Targaryen

[redwolf17]

Sansa Stark is the girl who makes a valentine for every kid in her elementary school class. Her brother Robb’s gloomy new friend seems like he needs one too.

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Reupping this oneshot of Valentine’s Day fluff I wrote last year :)

[tessimagines]

Hey everyone!

I’m happy to be back on Tumblr again and posting! If you didn’t see, I posted my first imagine in 3 or 4 years a few days ago. If you’re interested, it was a Remus Lupin oneshot and you can check it out here (angst warning!).  In order to celebrate my return to writing, I thought I would host a little celebration. The rules are below, so feel free to drop something in my inbox! I will be taking requests for Harry Potter and Game of Thrones characters.

Send a ❤ + a character name + a 🥰 for a fluffy drabble or a 😢 for an angsty drabble

Send a 💥 + fandom (HP or GoT) + a preference idea and you will get a preference with an assortment of characters (feel free to request specific ones if you wish)

Send a 🎈 + a character name for a random headcanon (you can add a headcanon prompt if you want something more specific)

Drop any requests in my inbox here!

You can also find my masterlist here

Looking forward to getting some requests!

Tess

[princessswon323323663fu]

Jon Snow & Violet Bennett

[halles-notebook]

touch deprived

(blurb)

you cannot tell me that jon snow isn’t the absolute shyest when it comes to physical affection. not even in a sexual way, he just hasn’t been held in so long that he forgot what it feels like to be cared for :(

when you come along full of teasing smiles and faint caresses when no one’s looking, he’s convinced the world has been tipped on its axis. he shys away from your advances every time because he learned that nothing ever lasts, and attachment is a weakness (our poor emo baby)

however, once he lets you past his own walls, your never leaving his side. ever. he’s writing ravens at his desk? your in his lap & his non-dominant arm is wrapped tightly around your waist because his girl just can’t go anywhere.

lying in bed together? he would 100% have his head smushed into your chest as your fingers stroked through his curls. even at dinner with his family right across from you, his hand is gently running across your thigh under the dinner table.

honestly, can you blame him though? he just feels so empty without you being attached to him ˚୨୧⋆

[justanoasisimagines]

Being Married to Jon Snow

Hey my lovelies, back with another request. My requests are open for everything except fics, you can find my request guidelines pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

❀Jon would be the more dotting husband. He would do anything to provide for you and his family. He'd protect them with his life.

❀Jon's attentive and he values your opinion. He wants to know what you care about, what your interests, passions and hobbies and he's going to do everything to encourage you.

❀Jon would be protective of you. No one would get away with disrespecting you. He would quickly put them into place. The usual calm and stoic would become someone you don't want to mess with.

❀Jon addresses you as 'my wife' whenever he's regarding you. It's a subtle act of possession in case anyone forgets the two of you are married.

❀When Jon can he likes to break his fast with you. He needs to start his day. To communicate with you so he knows what's going on with you and vice versa. During this time he wouldn't want to be disturbed so you two can have a frank and open discussion.

❀Jon likes to take walks through the Godswood with you whenever he can. He likes the quietness and the privacy of the woods. When the two of you have children he would include them in your walks.

❀Jon likes to give gifts. He does this whenever he sees something that reminds him of you he'll gift it to you. Jon is a rather sentimental person. He wants to make a declarations of love to you.

❀Jon would have rings made for you both. As a symbol of your love to symbolize your union. Jon would want people to know you two belong to each other.

❀Jon spends a lot of time being worried about you. He's always concerned you're safe, healthy and looked after. He doesn't want to mess up. He'd be worried about making sure he was an honorable man and a good father to his children.

❀Ghost would be protective of you. He would spend equal time with you and with Jon. Jon often finds Ghost curled up beside your feet or if you're headed to bed Ghost will be lying at the bottom of the bed.

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

Kit Harington imagine

If you like this, or if you dont, check out my other stories on wattpad (you might find something you like)!!!

Rest of my imagines/one shots you can find in my wattpad book Imagines that is being filled continuously by new stories.

Enjoy!

When we know what to do in new situations, it's time to admit to ourselves how old we have become.

 It was all new to her, and old at the same time, worn out as if she had witnessed a moment more than once. Which was not far from the truth with a few modifications. The music roared, people moving in pools of color that formed on the floor under splashes of neon lights from the ceiling. Everything was chaotic, mixed, in motion. Even the drink in the glass echoed with tremors along her fist, tightly wrapped around the crystal. She could see lips talking, trying to get her attention, but she could only make out their movements, not the tone. Her eardrums vibrated from the rhythm of the sound that permeated every creature that found itself in the disco tonight.

She drank the liquid to the last drop, then left glass on empty table, moving through the pile of bodies.  A few weeks ago on the amount she had ingested, she would already be intoxicated and would not know where she was going. But, she learned, it's easy to learn the bad. Like an ugly gift wrapped in a ribbon with a bow on top. It is hard to resist it, and it is not polite to show displeasure to the one who gives the gift. But is there such a thing as ugly gift?

The girl with the painful expression on her face hung over her shoulder to rest as she walked past her. She starts to wince, but instead of a sudden movement, takes a hard breath. There was no air, the heat began to choke her, but she still wrapped her arm around the girl's arm, other around the girl's hip. The last thing she would want is for the poor thing to fall at her feet. Everyone would talk about it for days. Although outwardly friendly smiling, stiffness caused by the proximity of the stranger did not leave her.

"I got you." She whispered, knowing the girl wouldn't hear her.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you. Just to take off these shoes. They are killing me. "

They say that drunk people feel more strongly about other people's mood swings, and that this is one of the reasons that leads to an outburst of sincerity with which they scatter around while in that state. Her usual sinking into that delirium was shrouded in oblivion that made her never know if the rumor had anything to do with the truth. The girl was showing symptoms of a rumor, which made her even more uncomfortable. She tries to relax but the heat makes it impossible for her well-drunk body and mind. There were times when she would fight but tonight she has no strength and neither sees the need to look for energy she will not find.

For a moment the girl disappeared from view in the dark, and she already thought she could breathe, but she felt someone's mane on the leaf, dragging itself along the denim of her trousers. "There it is. I'm free. "

An unknown girl stood up, waving her high-heeled shoes hanging from her fingers.

"Can you go on your own?" She asked. She probably hadn't even heard her, and even if she had, alcohol had ruined her entire memory. She received a kiss on the cheek with the greetings "see you! enjoy!" and leaning to the side under the weight of the girl when she pulled her in hug. She disappeared into the electrified crowd without saying her name. She wipes both the lipstick and the kiss from her skin, doubting whether she should have said goodbye or not.

She was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of panic. She pushed her body through shoulders, looking for a way out, but from the torsos rising above her tiny figure, she didn't get a chance to see anything. The air is too thick, unknown faces surrounded her, she squeezed. She is surrounded, there is no way out, she can't find him. She can't call anyone, call on her cell phone because it's too loud and no one would hear her calls for help. She felt a rush of blood in her face,  hair sticking to neck.  Y/N clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and began to count.

1 ...... inhale.

2... ..exhale.

3... ..repeat.

4 ...... inhale

5 ..................The swirl is interrupted by a crack of glass that shattered somewhere, causing a deep giggle to break. 

Through the shadows of helplessness that paralyzed her, a familiar face emerged, and she grabbed onto the last straw of salvation. She's saved! She better hurry while he's still there! 

She sneaks under someone's arm, not having time to get around boulder, always much bigger than her. The lights made it even harder to move, but she felt she was close. At the other end of the room, two people blocked her way, their backs turned. She tries to get around them several times, climbing on her toes to catch the source of the murmur from which the fracture originated."I'm sorry." 

She finally pushed her way to the desired destination, leaving emotionless faces behind. Had she acted a little more violently she would probably have caused an argument and a fight. And she didn't want that. Intoxicated minds are unpredictable. They are like a match that will ignite at any moment at any stimulus.Reach for the counter in the crack  created by moving the man to the side. She took it before the character decided to return, not wasting a moment to catch her breath, she began to speak, which in the noise was more reminiscent of howling. 

"Hey you! There you are! "She approached him to draw his attention to herself, but he had already turned his head, he had already noticed her. For a few moments he just stares at her in wonder.

"Oh, look who showed up." He growled furiously, visibly drunk. His eyes flashed in the dim light, his pupils absent and empty. She wasn't sure he recognized her at all.

"I'm going home. Do you want me to take you? "She didn't prepare for the possibility that he was in such a deprived state, but she knew what she had to do. She won't leave him. Although they know each other, they weren't exactly friends. More a kind of wanderers who often find themselves in the same place at the same time.

"You look really good tonight." Now her attention is drawn to the drunken flirtation of the character in front of her who leaned over and whispered the words in her ear. He was still watching her as he took a sip from glass, not counting any more, but the waiter was counting, who was already pouring him the next one, grinning at the amount the man would have to pay. The only luck in the accident was in the fact that this was an organized party to which they were both invited so that each of their drinks was or will be paid for from the pocket of the organizers. 

Y/N covered the rim of the glass with palm. "He's had enough." She didn't have the strength to give in, much less to argue. With the sharpness that remained, the waiter nodded in understanding. Tonight everyone lacked energy. The real ones, not artificially acquired by alcohol. But sometimes that is the only other thing left for those who do not get drunk out of leisure but out of sheer necessity.

"Let's go home Kit. Come on. That's enough." She won't give up. She has to get him out of here. She can't go on the road alone.

After much persuasion, they managed to find a way out and stagger out onto the recently defrosted asphalt, which glistened under the parking lights. It looked like a floor, black, thick, scattered with bits of shiny pebbles, and the smallest of them fell into cracks in the concrete from which no one would be able to pull them out because they would melt with the first rays of dawn. 

The coldness of the steering wheel on which she leaned her head was a welcome refreshment. It cooled her forehead veins and penetrated its tongue through the thin skin to her skull. It was always her favorite part of going out late at night. The coldness of the seats, the foggy, cold windows, the coldness of the car we all experienced when we left them in the outdoor parking lot in the middle of the night. Relief from the boiling blood still fueled by the deafening atmosphere they had left. It was as if her blood flow eased, diluted, and everything else stopped. If only she could stay and live in a world where everything is still. Not for long. Just for a few days, weeks. Until the thoughts are cleared and the body and soul and brain agree on how to proceed. 

"You shouldn't drive." 

She almost forgot about her companion. His voice on the passenger seat was the only warmth in the car. She watched him as he began rummaging through the cabinets in search of candy. They are both like children. She with her head on the steering wheel, and he crooked in the seat, relentlessly looking for a box he won't find, but which he won't stop looking for until his eyes fall on something that will distract him from the candy to some other little thing.

She threw them away or ate them. Thomas didn't dare ride with her, but the candies of the candied fruit were quite safe for him. Open the window and spit. One taste less.

She watched him as pencils fell out of one of the drawers. He watched them in amazement with no intention of stopping them. They went too far to catch them.

What are you running away from? She wondered as she handed them to him, picking them up from the gearbox they'd rolled onto. Maybe he's not running from anything. Maybe he just drinks because he has money. Maybe she just didn't want to be the only sad person tonight.

"I'm less drunk than you, anyway." 

Someone spoke, saying the words to her lips, when she remembered that he had said something to her but that she had never answered him.

He studied those damn pens as a scientist holding a new discovery. With childish curiosity and steely attention, he didn't even catch her words."You have to buckle up." She reached for his belt and began pulling it over the her absent acquaintance. "Even if they catch us, they can't charge us two fines. Although even one would be enough for a normal person. "

His gaze did not leave her movements, pencils long forgotten. He tries to help her with his fingers by wrapping them around the belt slot, but pulls them back when he sees that she has already fastened it.

Her chest heaved. She was upset, and he didn't know what made her angry.

"We're not normal, there's nothing that's too much for us." Against tears can only go those other tears. Tears of laughter. Although the smile has been hard to find lately. Light tears ran down her cheeks.

"Let's go." And off they went.

The machine didn't seem to be controlled by her hands. The engine rumbled gently under the chassis, the road unwinding like a ribbon under tires. They slid through the traffic lights whose shadows played on their faces. They did not exchange a word. The car lights were distant spots, blurred by insomnia and fatigue. Everything was moving slowly within the windshield, somewhere far away from the two of them, as if it was not on the same road with them. No one stopped them, two drunks in the car, driving with impunity. Probably those who should have punished them are also locals somewhere, trying to forget that no one loves them. Why do we all care so much about being loved? And when we are, we look for flaws in the love that is given to us, pretending that it means nothing to us.

"He left, and he ate all my candies." She said suddenly, not addressing anyone in particular. Swallowing would be a better expression, she thought. Why did you have to go and make the world sadder than it already was?

He knew from the beginning that it would end that way. Dickhead was the moon, Y/N a star, and those two never meet in the same sky, he would tell her. His words were useless. If he had said it, she wouldn't have listened. No one ever has. 

"I'll buy you new ones as soon as I'm sober." He said, looking at her. She stared ahead, squeezing the steering wheel. It was dark but in the glow of the piece plate above the steering wheel he saw the bones of her wrists and the whitened skin stretched over them. The words came out of her insides. She felt a little better. Another taste less. She didn't get carried away by the thought that she wouldn't remember him until morning. Poison is hard to get rid of because it enters every pore, she knew. Knowledge sometimes kills even the last hope.

"Make sure they're extra sugary, I prefer them now."

The road emptied except for a few cars that were moving, it seemed to him, even slower than them. He wanted to get somewhere, to go somewhere, without a clear goal. Where she was leading him was a riddle he didn't want to figure out. The seat sank under his figure, the rattling of the freshener against the rearview mirror  the hum in his ears until he could hear only the soft sound of the rope tightening from one side to the other. The nights are beautiful, he concluded. The only time of day when the whole world leaves you alone and you leave it. When it is dark and when all obstacles are less visible, so it seems as if everything is possible. If he were the ruler of the world, the sun would not rise, nor the nor the problems it brings with itself. He amused himself with the thought of being alone, of disconnecting himself from the crowd that surrounded him as soon as he felt the tentacles with which they were trying to devour him.

"One day they like my hair, the next day they are disgusted. One day they say I'm right, others are already writing that I must not have brain when I can say such nonsense. After a while, it becomes tiring. " The words begin to fall out on their own before they can be stopped. 

His curls were caught in a halo of light, though disheveled and uncombed, beautiful. 

"Nothing's missing your hair," she tried to reassure him, looking back at the road after a brief glance. Not noticing, he looked through the window, biting his lower lip, stretched between his teeth. He shook his head as if something bothered him. "It's not a matter of hair. Nothing ever works. It seems to me that the more I try, the lower my success rate. "

"Then cut them." She added absently, not at all startled. Now comes that outpouring of sincerity associated with feelings. Every doubt as to the truth of the rumor had dried up, gone before the anticipation of the words to be uttered. Vomiting, if there's any luck. She decided that even if nothing embarrassing happened, she would never reveal to him what he was like tonight. His secret with her to the grave. How many secrets the underworld knows. Allow yourself to pull the corners of your lips up. One day one might decide to exchange with the living, above-ground world. She was sure who would do better.

"It will grow again," he replied quickly, too quickly, directing all his attention to the driver.

"You think too much." It was the only answer she could think of.It was getting harder to keep my eyes open and the yawn muffled. She yawns, filling her lungs with oxygen that never reaches them fast enough.

"I think so." His fingers played with the torn thread of his jacket. "Have you seen them?" Those children? "It takes her a moment to remember what he's talking about, which he generously, not very patiently, gives her. Who was she supposed to see? The only person she saw, though only when she closed her eyes, which she had been doing more often lately than keeping them open, was a boy with brown eyes and blond hair. And only because he never showed himself to her in plain real sight. not anymore. She didn't even want to look at anyone else. And when someone stepped in front of her gaze, she would look for him and his glow and his eyes and his smile on an unknown occasion incomparable to him. It was a sobriety bordering on eccentricity."Children from the Humanitarian?" She finally remembered his humanitarian work, which she had heard about on the radio some time ago.

"Those children are hungry, and I can't help them. I look at them and just smile at them and promise to do something and I don't believe in that possibility either. Man. it's so fucked." He went back to looking out the window. The curls danced against his face, untamed and free, just as she had always imagined. Like something too beautiful to ever be hers. Like a drink too strong for her tired body, like the last minute of a night fading with daylight."It's not your fault for the injustice."

"No, no one is to blame. But there is still more  and more of it every day. "He answered her more desperately than angrily. At one point, the sadness turns to anger, and when we realize that it is also useless, despair comes and liquid that blurs his real face, so we don't recognize him for a few hours. The rest of the ride passed in the silence and rattling of the air freshener when they turned into a bend or changed lanes.

The house was dark and huge. And glass. Lots of glass, on all sides.She escorted him to the living room, after he had not gotten out of the car for a few minutes even though they had already arrived in front of the entrance. She didn't rush him. It was dark, quiet, interrupted by breathing that returned to both a somewhat normal routine.

They were sitting. She leaned her head against the window. It was no longer cold on the inside."You're home."

They were sitting.  He didn't answer her. The freshener stopped swaying as if signaling the end of the night. He didn't want it to end like that, so miserable, so mundane.

She had to open the door for him in person and help him up the stairs. "You're leaving the house unlocked?"

"I'd sleep more nights outside than in my bed if I didn't leave." 

He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, still holding her hand. Tonight she became a support for the drunk and tired, without any support for herself. "Yeah, you seem to have more luck than wit, in some things."

She stood in the middle of the room not knowing what to do with herself now that he let her go and staggered down the hall. She didn't know where to place her eyes. Everything was so clean and tidy and new. She didn't know what she expected from the inside. She didn't expect anything. She never imagined herself in a space like this. He's fine here, he thought. But he probably doesn't even know what he has, the sick part of her mind tunes in very quickly. He had never been sober enough to realize, she replied to herself. Sometimes it's easier to have imaginary conversations. No awkward questions, ambiguous phrases. We can follow word-for-word scenarios, which in the real world no one has ever learned.

Should I leave without saying goodbye or not? Maybe she should wait to make sure Kit's okay.

 She didn't move from where he had left her.

He stopped in the hallway. Something deep in his head bothered him. "You listened." Turning to the girl, he said. "And you weren't laughing." He continued as he leaned against the doorframe. "I hope to remember that tomorrow."

She didn't laugh. She remained frozen in her emotionless expression. "I'll make sure to remind you."

Thoughtfully, with a wrinkle between his eyebrows that hadn't been there before, he stared at the floor when he remembered. "If only you weren't right."

"About what?"

He remembered her every word when she told them to him that winter twilight. It was difficult for him to reconstruct them now because he saw them in his memory only partially in the haze of numbness.

"That we don't remember things we did while we're drunk, but that forgetting doesn't apply to those.. em... to those... .. because of which we drink. The ones we did before we got drunk. Which means that even that one- "he began to approach her awkwardly as he pointed with his index finger as the number one" -one, the only thing, drunkenness, is meaningless. "

He stood opposite her, so close she could feel the breath in her hair. When she finds the words she's sure are ones she's been looking for, she raises her head so that their gazes are on the same level."We can't run away from ourselves Kit. That is impossible. With or without alcohol. "

She didn't even finish, his lips were already on hers. Gently, gently, as only the desperate know. Slowly, slowly, as only those who are no longer in a hurry do. He parted her lips with his own. They were warm and suddenly full of blood. Where there is blood, there is life. He wanted to remember, to draw a mental map of her lips and all the emotions that filled him.  When he leaves, that he can still feel it all, all of her on his lips. When he sobers up that he still remembers her. Her lips are full of life, which must come to an end someday. They run out of air and separate, her cheeks still embraced by his smooth palms.

"If you were little bit older, I would make passionate, crazy love to you." he said, caressing her cheeks. He spoke to her briskly, at the same time softly and bluntly. He spoke the way he would speak sober if he didn't care who was listening, who was watching. If he was relaxed and naive, childishly distracted, with no worries on his mind.

She didn't know where to put her hands, so she put them in her coat pockets. She didn't want to leave a trace that might remind him of tonight's events. The nights are dark, so are the deeds. So that they can merge and disappear in the shadows of darkness.

"I'm leaving now. Take care."

She left him behind, in the creaking of the door and the sounds that signaled it has closed. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't even want to stay. She wasn't sure what she wanted. If only he wasn't right. Everything was really messed up.

He's fine, safe, and the steering wheel and windows are cold again like the rest of the car's interior. This time she rested her head on the seat. Tongues of cold crept through her exposed scalp, cooling the boiling blood again. Everything repeats itself. We are constantly looking for reruns of pieces that comfort us. But we forget that even those for whom we don't want to buy a ticket must also show up for the theater to survive.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the pencils in the passenger seat were neatly stacked next to each other. She didn't touch them, let them rest where they were. 

We are just children, she finally concludes, who want to be happy again.

[miss-celestia13]

You’re the King, baby, I’m your Queen

Jonerys Orgasmic October Day Two

~*~

“I believe the Queen should heed her King when he orders her to do something.”

She straightened, spine turning to shiny steel as she ignored the lust like an iron weight low in her belly to fire back, “I heard no order. And you must be mistaken. This Queen does what she wants.”

His smile was more of a snarl, and she whimpered under the weight of his singular eyes, a spark catching, quick in hot in the black as his hand flexed on her arm.

“Listen closely, Your Grace. Come with me now, or I’ll carry you out. Your choice.”

~*~

Prompt:

Role Play.

[alishaaxo]

List of All Elia Martell-centric fics I enjoy:

Elia Martell And The Crown She Didn’t Want: AU where she marries Baelor Hightower yet Rhaegar is longing for her, which is unreciprocated.

Two Father’s, One Son: Everyone Lives AU where Jon Snow dies unexpectedly and Elia comes back to KL, married to Baelor Hightower.

The Isle Of Faces Does Not Welcome: Elia and Rhaegar have a third child, and Elia confronts Lyanna. No bashing of her, from Lyanna’s POV.

Clean AU: Elia and children are missing, assumed dead for 15 years, until a mystery knight returns to KL, claiming the blue roses his mother deserves.

The Queen And Her Bastard: Everyone Lives AU. Legitimised bastard Jon with sympathetic Lyanna slowly turned more cunning against Elia. Jon-Aegon have positive relationship, in spite of their mother’s ambitions.

The Brightest Sun: Elia and kids transported to Harry Potter Epilogue era. Train and arrive to Westeros during GOT. 200K words.

Poetry is what he thought, but did not say: Erik Kilmonger as Rhaegar. Ruthless Elia with ruthless Rhaegar who has a controversial temperament and bad reputation. Interesting dynamic with Barristan, Arthur and Aerys.

Dragons spin and spin: Spiders weave and weave: Mainly Elia Martell AU oneshot collection, with other characters included.

A tigress, not a woman: Elia Martell scorned by Rhaegar, wants for a annulment. Elia beloved by the Smallfolk.

Poison is a Woman’s Weapon: Queen Regent Elia watches on as Aegon gets crowned, reminiscing on the past.

An unexpected news item: Elia Martell gets shocking news. Very exaggerated bashing of Lyanna.

With Careful Hands and A Strong Chin: Doran died as a babe, Elia is the heir to Dorne. Arthur-Elia.

With Duty In Mind: Elia and Rhaella clean up Rhaegar’s messes.

Gone Girl: Elia dies only to wake up before her wedding. She runs away, with Rhaegar following suit in her trail in regret.

In The Chaos Of A World: Rhaegar dies while Lyanna and Elia live to see Robert ascend. Robert-Elia not in a romantic light, but political.

Caged Beasts And Cloudy Skies: Braime-centric, yet Elia-focused as they wish to crown her after the scorn from R+L, and bring her to rest at her homeland.

Lex Talionis: SIOC of Elia, takes the war into her own hands. Jaime-Elia centric.

Lady of Stormsend: Annulled Elia-Rhaegar, yet Elia married Robert and jealousy and resentment arises.

From Where Blessings Flow: Robert and Elia marry, yet the Realm is not settled as Aegon and Rhaenys grow. With Rhaenys-Viserys.

Living With Regret Of The Chance Not Taken: Rhaegar and Lyanna are married, while Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys are missing… until they are not. And life turns on it’s head. No bashing, just critical of R+L.

Planetos React: Modern AU react to historical figures Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys and Jaime found within tombs, and go wild on tumblr.

But A Woman Is A Changling (always shifting shape: My fic!! Selfless promo! Elia has a green-dress moment ala Alicent where she shows pride in her heritage and snarks towards Rhaegar and Lyanna.

This is all the Elia-centric fics I know of and enjoy! If you have any, please comment them and I’ll add them to this masterlist!!