#much like jon snow i know nothing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinguwrites · 2 months ago

Text

The Doll's Burial ⸻ Jonathan Crane

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jonathan crane x reader

summary | You knew Jonathan Crane was meant for you from the moment you laid your eyes on him — a brilliant man, filled with wit and curiosity and youth. So perfect, in fact, that you have to take him away from the rest of the world and make him yours, your darling doll. He’ll like it, won’t he?

word count | 9k

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, dark!reader, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, reader’s delusional and sick and sadistic but sweet ig, religious (specifically Christian) disdain from Jon , murder/torture towards jon/in general, jon isn’t scarecrow au, slightly ooc jon, p in v sex, househusband!jonathan, PROCEED WITH CAUTION - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

You didn’t know what beauty was until you met Jonathan Crane that fateful winter’s night, a night where the season’s gentle touch had left windows glazed with frost, and the late evening coated in a thick, gloomy darkness. Crystal flakes were falling from the sky onto your body like specks of dust, but it was nothing compared to the way it looked on him, his dark hair contrasting with the white, the snow melting upon the touch of his skin. His breath was coming out in puffs of smoke before dissipating into the bitter air, his square glasses glinting in the light of the street lamps.

Time had frozen still at that moment, as though your brain had gone numb, much like the cold was numbing your ears and toes and the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips, you observed as the man — whose name you did not know then — glanced at the slim watch on his wrist, shivering ever so slightly as a breeze brushed him by. He was wearing an elegant suit, colored charcoal, the dress shirt underneath thinly striped, and his shoes polished and new, no doubt recently bought. He seemed to be an educated man with wealth, maybe a doctor or lawyer, but you guessed doctor, because he struck you as a scientific mind, curious but practical.

He wasn’t married, as he had no ring, which led you to believe that his profession took up a lot of his time and effort. After all, how could a man as gorgeous as him not be desired? Even the thought of him in bed with you set your loins alight, not to mention the slightest notion of him being yours until death do us part.

“Silly,” you had murmured to yourself, though there was a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re thinking too far ahead, like always.”

But it really wasn’t your fault. He was so delightful to look at. Almost like a doll, with his plump pink lips and blush-dusted cheeks. You could imagine it already: a domestic life. He needn’t not lift a finger, not think a single thought, as long as he allowed you to hold him in his arms. How was it that someone who had not done anything at all to warrant such attraction, found himself at the center of your obsessiveness?

There’s something about him. Something different I cannot deny. He was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, anyone you would ever see in the future. It was strange how humans worked, heart so easily manipulated. What was it that caught your attention in the first place? you wondered. The aesthetic of the scene? His simple presence in the emptiness of the street? Did it even matter anymore, now that you were so hopelessly captured by him?

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!”

Heart thumping against your chest at the sudden noise, you answered hesitantly, “Yes?”

The man, who was raising his voice so he could be heard across the street, gave you a wary look. “Do you know when the bus will arrive? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you. The event felt out of control, like you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It bothered you, but if anything, this was a sign. A sign that perhaps he was the one. “I’m waiting for it as well,” you continued. “Do you mind if I cross?”

“I don’t.”

After you made sure there were no cars nearby, you walked across the road and finally got your first view of the man, finding his features, his mannerisms, his everything to be just as breathtaking as it was from a distance. He had a relatively low voice, around a medium pitch, and it was grated, almost like a vocal fry. He had these little freckles scattered across his face like distant stars in the sky. If it was possible, you would have plucked out every single one of them to store in a jar.

“I usually don’t take the bus,” you said smoothly, trying to start a conversation, though all you could focus on the way he was looking at you, his gaze piercing and icy, “but my car’s in a workshop. I thought I’d try my luck here before heading to the subway.”

Your car wasn’t in a workshop. It was in the garage parking lot just diagonal of his view. You had only gotten out because you wanted a quick coffee at the local café. Eternally grateful that you spotted him along the way, you weren’t sure what you would have done if you hadn’t. It had only been a few minutes, and you were already in love.

The man hummed in response, not seeming to take much of an interest. “I’m in a similar situation myself . . . I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, clearing his throat.

He started walking down the sidewalk to the nearest subway station, a walk you knew was going to take about a while. And in those clothes? He was most certainly going to catch a cold. If it was proper to do so, you would have offered him your own coat, but in a city like this, where no one trusted, you didn’t need to make him suspicious of your kindness. People were like animals, small critters. Approaching them too fast would scare them off. You had to be subtle, ease into it before you did anything too rash.

“Are you coming?” he asked, turning around, waiting for you to follow him. His tone was expectant, and almost humorous, like the thought of you continuing to wait for the bus was amusing to him. It made you amused. There would be work to do with his arrogance when you finally take him away, you made a mental note of that.

“No,” you responded. “I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have a friend come pick me up.”

“. . . Are you sure?” he pressed, concerned. He was concerned for you. It was so sweet.

“I’m sure,” you repeated. If you were with him for a second longer you would have gotten down on your knees and proposed.

He considered your words, then nodded. “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You as well . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“Jonathan,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with ease. Jon-ah-thun, meaning God has given, gift of God. A gift to you, surely, or why else would he be here, standing in your presence if he wasn’t meant to be taken away? To be polite, you gave him your own name, hoping he liked it as much as you liked his, and simply said, “Have a nice day,” hiding the butterflies inside your stomach that flew around like hail in a blizzard.

Jonathan Crane, my very own doll.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against the skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then the noises stopped, and a defeated sigh left your doll’s lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped, as though he had given up. It was a shame, too. The sight of him struggling was exhilarating. It filled you with such excitement and arousal that you wished he kept going.

Currently, you were working, with your laptop placed out in front of you on your desk, some oatmeal to your right. The camera system was hooked up to the large monitor, so from here you could watch Jonathan’s movements. He had been awake since the break of dawn, the time he usually got up for work, except he wasn’t at his house today, he was in your basement, body against the cold floor, trembling like a scared bunny.

The planning was the most difficult part of this endevour. You had never actually kidnapped someone before. When you were a child, the local police suspected you in the mutilation of a few small critters in your apartment complex, and in college you were involved in the accidental death of one of your fellow students (he fell down the stairs and hit his head, nothing that anyone could prove was your fault), but to actually kidnap someone was entirely different.

It would be an ongoing investigation until the case was classified as cold, and even then some cold cases were picked up again after years; you had to make sure no could connect a link, because some people were too narrow-minded to understand how true and unconditional your adoration for him was; and not only that, but the amount of research — or stalking, as some might call it — that you had to do was exhaustive; but really, it was worth it, and Jonathan would fall for you just as you did for him within a few months, maybe a year at most. He would come to realize just how much you cared about him, and just how wonderful your life could be together. Once you arrived at that point, things would flow seamlessly. You had all the precautions in place. Even if he did try and escape, you always had a sedative in your pocket, and all the doors to your house was just as secure on the inside as it was on the outside.

The only thing you worried about was witnesses. See, Jonathan was usually very careful not to go into secluded alleyways or dingy locations on his own, which made it difficult to take him. So, you had to bump into him in a coffee shop — a coincidence, you had told him — and from there lure him out.

You sighed lovingly and gazed at Jonathan through the screen, deciding that it was time to bring him breakfast and lay out the ground rules.

After a few more minutes, you crept down the stairs with some food and water, careful not to step on any of the parts that would cause a creaking sound, and unlocked the basement with the passcode. When you opened the door, Jonathan raised his head, scooting his body away from your figure until he backed into a corner.

It was a dingy little place. It used to have carpet, but you removed that in favor of plastic tarp on the floor, nothing that could indefinitely stain the cement underneath. The walls were covered in that as well, and there was no window or clock to let him know the time. There were blankets to the side, and a small toilet to the other corner of the room. It was a good enough place for now. You hated seeing him in these conditions, but only once he proved responsible would you update him to a secured bedroom. At this point in time, he wasn’t capable of understanding things, and would only try to run away if you gave him more freedom.

Jonathan stayed quiet for a long while, and so did you, but then he scoffed. “I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. You placed the bowl in front of him, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and honey filling the stale air. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. There needn’t be a conversation over this. He didn’t reach for the bowl yet, but you knew he would when you left. Eventually, hunger would get to him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

Yes, yes I am. I love you as true as the air you breathe, as blue as your eyes gleam, and as certain as the beat of your heart.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

There was no point in hiding your intentions.

He scoffed again, head down. “Realize this, I have nothing. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give you.”

Reaching out to him, you rubbed your thumb against his skin. He was cold. Again.

“You need to learn how to keep warm,” you said, concerned. “There’s some blankets. Use them.”

Jonathan pulled away, though you could tell he wanted you to keep doing that, because for a brief moment he almost leaned into your touch and warmth. So, you did just that. You gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. He put up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, he relented, and let you caress his skin. Letting your fingers trail up his cheek to his nose, you quickly made your way to his eyelashes, his long, thick eyelashes that fluttered like a black bird’s feathers.

“I did a bit of research on you,” you said. “Just enough to make sure no one would come looking for you right away, to learn your patterns and your habits, or any other important bits of information . . . like the fact that you have a therapist.”

Jonathan looked straight into your eyes. It was almost as if, at the moment, he was more concerned about what you might have read about him than his current predicament. He didn’t want anyone to know his past, his secrets, his weaknesses. It was embarrassing, and you knew that because you read in his file — which took atrociously long to obtain — how ashamed he was of himself, how conscious.

He shoved you away, and you backed off.

“Don’t be mean,” you frowned, hurt. “It was necessary. Watching you through your window wasn’t enough to truly know you. And even now, I’m sure there’s so much I’ve missed. It’ll be nice. As long as you listen and don’t cause trouble, everything will be okay.”

“You’re delusional,” he scowled. “I’ve known enough people like you in my life to understand how you work. Once you’re tired of me, you’ll dump me and get someone new to torment.”

“That’s not true, and you’ll see that,” you protested. It broke you to know that he thought of himself as expendable. “. . . I know you need some time to think. I’ll come down in a few hours with lunch, alright?”

You took his silence as a ‘yes’.

“Good boy.”

+++

A few weeks had passed by. The snow was beginning to melt, turning into a mushy, brown sludge that you had to trudge through every morning to get to work. Admittedly, you were quite busy with your job, but you made as much time as you could for Jonathan. Your doll was in a sour mood the entire time, and after calling you a bitch and a unintelligent, perverted whore — such colorful language — he started begging you to let him go.

I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you money. Please, I’m begging you. All clearly signs of emotional distress.

It hurt you a lot when Jonathan rejected your affection. More than you thought it would. He should be grateful that you took such an interest in him, but instead he was disgusted. Of course, he would fall for you soon, but it made you wish that he had already done so, and that too on the night you two met.

Wouldn’t it have been romantic? Love at first sight. Did you not deserve something like that? For someone to look into your eyes the way you did his and think, This is the one I want to marry. Again, you knew it would take time, but the wound still cut deep.

He was eating, which was good. One less thing to worry about. But when you checked his wrists to see if the cuffs were still locked you found them red with marks. It worried you a bit, so you applied some cream to them — or at least, tried to, with the way he was struggling and all. You did other things like bathe him, but despite how desperate you were to see his pretty cock, you never went beyond the waistline, and encouraged him to clean himself down there instead. You hoped it established some sense of trust between you two, because at least Jonathan would realize that you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable.

When you were researching Jonathan Crane — before you took him — you learned that he was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. A professor at Gotham University first, but either way, it seemed that his heart lied with the sciences. You did a little internet digging and tracked his book orders, then picked something you thought he would like and was sure he hadn’t read yet.

One book on chemistry and its applications on brain science, and another on psychology, a look into real-world examples written by a doctor from the late twentieth century.

Carefully wrapping it up in light blue paper, you tied it with a navy-colored ribbon and made a bow. Your fingers lingered on the box, a little nervous about handing it over to Jonathan, but you walked downstairs with it anyways, opening the basement door and watching with satisfaction as he scurried away once again.

“It’s just a gift,” you laughed, setting it down in front of him. He watched it warily. “I want you to open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Jonathan’s lower lip quivered, and you had a sudden desire to kiss him. Lips upon lips, heavy and sweet. Sometimes, you felt as though the only way to get close to him — truly close — was to peel off his skin and wrap it around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He would die, which you didn’t want, but to think about it was enough. It was so intimate it made you hot all over.

“Please,” Jonathan muttered. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to hear this again. I’ve been really patient with you. Can’t you just . . . be normal?”

“Normal?”

Oh, dear. He’s about to go into another one of his fits.

“How can you expect me to be normal when you’ve got me locked in chains?” he frowned. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t getting upset, but rather more submissive. He wasn’t scowling or spitting in your face, but rather his head was downturned and his body language more open. Was this it? Was this the point of breaking?

“I have nothing,” he continued. “No bed to sleep in, no touch . . .”

Touch. Well, he had you, didn’t he?

“You don’t like it when I touch you,” you said.

He looked away, almost embarrassed. This doll of a man had you completely enamored, fooled, like a hopeless soul waiting for the heavens. Anything he did, anything he said, would make you fold in a heartbeat. If he asked you to go get the moon, you would die, frozen in the vastness of space just trying. He could make you do anything, except perhaps let you go, but only because you knew that deep down, he didn’t really want it.

Jonathan didn’t make an effort to come closer to you, and you didn’t either. Despite your devotion, you wanted to see him make the first move. You had waited long enough. All you wanted was to be loved by him, and you knew that he had it in him to show his affection. He just feared you, feared that you would hurt him.

. . . Maybe a few more days. A few more days of waiting until you would take drastic action.

+++

Laying on the couch, you turned on the TV, opening up the Gotham news channel as background noise while you dozed off. There were a few errands to be done, but you decided to put them off until tomorrow as the weather had gotten worse. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the snow was still brown and mushy, but it was freezing, and you made the stupid mistake of leaving your car outside.

After ten minutes of just lazing around, you were abruptly woken up by the ring of your doorbell. With a groan, you got up off the couch and unlocked the door, only for your nerves to jump and a nervous chuckle escape your lips.

“I — well, hi. Can I help you, officer?” you asked, looking the man in front of you up and down. He had wispy brown hair that was covered by a fur hoodie and a kind smile painted on his face. He didn’t look like he meant any harm, but perhaps this was just a facade to get your guard down. For all you knew there could be police officers stationed all around your house. Or were you being too paranoid? Yes. You probably were.

“You can,” he said, voice a little gruff. “My name is Peter Wright, I just wanna ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”

You hesitated. “What's this about?”

Wright chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Do you know a man named Jonathan Crane? You may have just passed him on the street — he had dark hair, glasses, clean-cut . . .”

Your mind ran through all the possibilities. There was absolutely no way this man could know you two even met. You were so careful — so unbelievably careful. Was there something you had overlooked? Something you had missed? Maybe someone saw you with Jonathan and reported it to the police once they realized he was missing.

“. . . No.”

Wright smiled. “No need to be so tense. We just wanna know where he is.”

You smiled, trying to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue who that is. You probably have the wrong person — ”

“ — yeah, figured,” Wright interrupted, flashing another smile. “He’s been missing for a while. You’re not in trouble, we just have to check every lead.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” you said. “May I ask, why have I become a . . . lead?”

“Just some security footage on a date of interest. You had crossed the street at a bus station.” Wright paused for a moment, seeing if you remembered anything. You did, but you kept your face blank. It was better to pretend. It made you relieved, however. This was nothing serious, and nothing that was your fault. “He wrote it down in one of his journal entries, that’s why we checked.”

“Journal entries?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Yes. That’s how all these smart people are like, or so I’ve been told. Methodical, pattern-orientated.”

Was he even supposed to be telling you this? It seemed like this man was more loose-lipped than he first appeared. Perhaps you could pull some information out of him, turn on your charm.

“You know what? Come inside. It’s cold, and I can make you some hot coffee.”

“Really?” Wright raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting let me in?”

You gave a playful glare. “I’m not gonna ask again, sir.”

Wright obliged, and for the rest of the evening, he divulged information about the case, a little too flirtatious for your taste, but it got the work done, and by the end of the day, you learned that they had nothing on you, and nothing on this case.

+++

“Jonathan,” you cooed as you entered the basement with a plate of mashed potatoes and steak. You immediately noticed that his knuckles were bloody, and realized what he was trying to do — he must have heard another person upstairs and banged against the concrete walls in the hopes that he would’ve been heard.

What a stupid boy!

“Hold on,” you muttered, annoyed, placing the food down. “I’ll get you some bandages — ”

“ — Can’t you just be here?” Jonathan said shakily, his voice hoarse. “You said you loved me but you never spend time with me, you’re always upstairs . . . I’m going insane.”

Your heart leaped. Finally. Finally! It was happening. He was beginning to see, to truly see the connection you both had. You could envision it already — a wedding, with only an eficator there to make things legitimate, with flowers and a beautiful background, perhaps a sunset or beach, or maybe some mountains — topped with snow. That would be perfect, absolutely wonderful. Oh, you would have to start making the plans now!

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, no. No, darling. I’m just so excited, I’ve been waiting so long . . . Here, can I hold you?”

Jonathan nodded with a sniffle.

Not wasting a single moment, you wrapped him up in your arms, watching as he delicately snuggled his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing up against your skin was exhilarating, making you shudder and shake like you were about to lose it. About to lose it and take him right then and there, all romantic like, with nice words and the scent of rose petals . . . Maybe your first time could be in a bath, with lit candles, cleaning each other off. It was —

Hold on. Where was his chain?

Jonathan’s arms were around your waist, but you couldn’t feel the metal. You looked to the hook on the wall and saw that it had broken off, next to it the psychology book you gave to him, heavily dented.

Chasting yourself, you felt Jonathan tighten his grip around your body. You should have checked — you should have checked for the chain like you did every time you came down. What was wrong with you? This one simple mistake could ruin everything . . .

Trying to think as quickly as you could, you looked around the room for the other book, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You had a sedative syringe in your pocket, but you couldn’t get to it without alerting him. Alas, you finally felt something poking you in the side, something sharp like an edge, and within seconds you had been tossed to the floor and hit over the head.

+++

When you finally woke up, your head was reeling. You had a massive headache, and everytime you tried to sit up your vision would go a little dark and you would give up. Before you could try again, you had a hand against your throat. You felt a horrible surge of anger, and in the midst of your emotions, a slight sense of arousal.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” you cried out, voice choked. You could feel a shift in movement, because after Jonathan realized he was hurting you, he loosened his grip, but it still wasn’t enough to get out of his grasp. He probably tried to open the basement door but couldn’t, so waited until you came to give him the passcode. You couldn’t rely on the hope that he wouldn’t hurt you. He was desperate. But so were you.

“Everything you’ve done,” he repeated with a low murmur. “You know how humiliating it is to be trapped in a basement for a month, forced to bathe in front of you because I can’t even be trusted with a flow of water? Have to piss with chains on? I’m a doctor, I shouldn’t have to submit to your delusion.”

“You should and you will!” you screeched, squirming. “You finally have someone to love you, to adore you, someone who would do anything for you, and it’s still not enough. Or you know what? Maybe you like that. Being sad all the time, not having anyone to care for you. Probably used to it, huh? Distant parents, bitch grandmother, no friends, no lovers . . .”

Jonathan tossed you to the floor and pinned you down, his nose close to yours, breathing heavy, eyes a little glossy. Then, without warning, he slapped you. The sting was both painful and pleasurable. The little whimper you let out was more of a light sigh, but you didn’t let that distract you. All you needed to do was reach into your pocket for the syringe, which he clearly hadn’t noticed was there. If you could drug him just a little, you would be able to get your power back, your control.

“I want the code. That’s it.”

“I want a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just one kiss. A nice, long one.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. His breath tickled your skin. Then, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his perfect, pink lips against yours. He was so easily manipulated, so eager. Even when he had all the power, he still fell for your little antic. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

While he was distracted, you swiftly took the syringe out and stabbed him with it, pushing half the liquid in. He pulled away and gasped, but then his eyes started drooping, and his movements became more wobbly, and he fell into your arms, disorientated and dizzy.

“Mm . . . what did you do?” he asked.

You grabbed his hair, making him wince in pain. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard to be patient, not rushing you, making you feel as safe as possible” You paused. “But sometimes people aren’t grateful for what they have. That’s okay, it happens. You just have to learn. I’ll be patient again, just for you.”

You laid him on his back and started unbuckling his pants belt. He tried to stop you, but his movements were too weak and groggy.

“Don’t — don’t,” he pleaded.

You stopped, but only for the time being. You lifted him up onto his feet and let him lean against you. His feet were dragging a little against the floor, but he managed to walk. He pulled himself away from you when you made it to the top of the stairs but stumbled. He just wasn’t strong enough. You unlocked the passcode.

You led him over to the bathroom on your first floor, where you opened the tub’s tap and let the water flow. Jonathan’s eyelids drooped slightly, but you could see — smell — the fear in them. He knew what you were going to do, and he was helpless to stop it.

Taking off the rest of his belt, you pulled his cock out. White, soft, a little big, but other than that it was perfect, just like every other part of him. You brushed your finger across it, watching the way it twitched in your hands. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned down and gave the head a small kiss, but that was the last bit of kindness Jonathan was going to receive today. In fact, receive for a long while.

You dipped your hand in the tub, which was steadily flowing with water, and gave his cock a hard squeeze, making him whimper in pain. “That’s the closest to lube you’ll get,” you said. “Now come on, don’t fight me. Dip your face in.”

Pushing his head down into the tub wasn’t much of a struggle, but Jonathan wasn’t making it easy. Your doll, your poor doll. He didn’t want to be hurt, but that was what had to happen. And it would keep happening until he finally admitted that he loved you.

When Jonathan’s nose touched the water, he groaned, his head dizzy. It was cold, but by the time he could even register the temperature, his entire head was in, held by your hand as your other stroked his cock. A few air bubbles came up, but you didn’t give in. You wanted him to struggle, you wanted him to be in pain. He was like a fragile mouse caught in a trap. Only you could let him go. Only you had the power to.

After a few more seconds, you lifted his head up, watching with glee as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering when he could spare it.

“Aw, baby boy. You don’t like that very much, do you?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. You just shoved him down into the tub again, feeling your body tingle. You swiped your finger over that little hole where you would soon force cum to shoot out of, and pressed down on it hard. Then, you found your way to his balls, slightly pulling at the small hairs there. Pinching and squeezing. His thighs shook, so you slapped them. They were another beautiful part of his body.

You continued pumping, up and down, steadily, then pulled him out. You could feel some pre-cum on your hands . . . even when you were torturing him he couldn’t control his biological reactions.

When he came up for the second time, he begged, “Please — I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . Mercy, I can’t!”

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and water was running down from his chin to his chest underneath the plain white shirt you had given him. His nipples were perked, probably from all the adrenaline, but you liked to think that it was because he was aroused.

“You can and you will,” you growled. “Take it. Take it!”

+++

When you were finished with him, you took him back down to the basement, his cock hanging limp through the zipper area of his pants, and tossed him to the floor. Noticing one of the books you gifted him on the ground, you picked it up and threw it at him. It hit his leg, and within seconds, he passed out.

You locked the door and left him like that for the next few days. No food, no water, no nothing. Through the camera you could see that he was barely moving. He only got up to use the toilet, but other than that, he was like a slug. It was on the third day that you decided to go down again and nourish him, otherwise he might die, and you didn't want that, not after all this hard work.

ii.

Jonathan Crane was respected throughout the city of Gotham, a known and reputable psychiatrist amongst others in his field, as well as connected with higher elites who often funded his projects, his small passions. Never did he think he would ever end up in someone’s basement, that too the basement of a beauty.

He had gotten into a car accident while pulling out of Akrham’s parking lot. It was a stupid mistake, not even his fault, really. The curb was so narrow and it was difficult to see past the line of trees whether another car was coming or not, and in his rush to get home, he went ahead without thinking and collided with a red Sedan.

No one was injured, but his car was beat up, and after getting it towed, he had to walk all the way to the nearest bus station (which was very far away, as the aslyum was rather secluded). It was cold, and he wasn’t dressed for this weather at all. He tried to take his mind off the temperature by looking at his watch, the tick-tick ticking, but when he finally got there, he found that the bus was not coming at all. It had been fifteen minutes, and nothing was there. The entire street was surprisingly empty for a city as busy as Gotham, with only the occasional patrol car driving past.

He was about ready to head to the subway — another long trek — when he saw someone else standing across the street. It was a woman, he could tell from the figure, but she was shrouded in darkness . . . Maybe she was waiting for the bus as well.

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!” he shouted out, hoping not to startle her. He knew how women could get, all scared and skittish when they were alone. He understood. Crime rates were high, rape and theft were common. Even he was on his guard right now.

“Yes?” the woman answered hesitantly.

“Do you know when the bus will arrive?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m waiting for it as well. Do you mind if I cross?”

Jonathan hadn’t expected that, but agreed nonetheless. He found it a bit odd that she was waiting on the other side of the road, but figured that she might have only just arrived. When she crossed, the light of the street lamps hit her face and he was taken aback. She was awfully pretty — beautiful, in fact. She was looking at him with almost dazed eyes, a nervous expression upon her face. He couldn’t tell if she found him attractive, or if she was intimidated by him. Most people were.

They had a short conversation that eventually ended. Jonathan would head down to the subway station, and the woman had opted to call her friend to pick her up. He was a little disappointed. She seemed interesting, and there was no harm in continuing their conversation, but he was also tired and in no mood to convince her to come along with him.

He was about to leave when she asked him for his name. “Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he clarified.

“Jonathan,” she repeated. For a moment, he felt ill at ease. Maybe it was the reminder that he was in the middle of an empty street at night, or the way she looked at him as she repeated his name. He shook it off, he was just being silly.

The woman gave him her name — your name, a nice name. He didn’t know what it was about you, but for the rest of the day you were on his mind. It was enough to make him mention you in his journal, mention with a flow of compliments that ranged from beautiful to almost sinister.

+++

Jonathan had always had a bit of a problem when it came to people. As a child he was ostracized and bullied for his gangly body, and in his adulthood, he had always come off as too unnerving for others. It probably didn’t help that he was arrogant and assuming, too. When it came to lovers, he could get quite obsessive, a problem that broke most of his relationships. Apparently no one liked it when their boyfriends were possessive.

He’d had a few affairs before, but nothing ever serious. He could never find someone he liked enough to marry. On the surface, he semed like the kind of guy that was more interested in his work than anything romantic, but in the end he had been raised with typical values, and as much as he tried to shake it off, he really felt like his path in life was to work, marry, have children, and then die.

When he was a kid his grandmother, Keeny, stressed upon him the importance of finding a good Christian wife. She must be a virgin, submissive, good-natured, and so on. He was sure she had already picked someone from their small town for him, because she was oddly pushy towards this one Church girl who liked to have ribbons in her braids (that was all he really remembered of her). Jonathan wondered what his grandmother thought of him now. Despite all the bad memories associated with her, he still sent letters with money every once in a while. She responded sometimes, mostly with pleas for him to come back, but he never paid them any mind. He was done with her and Georgia.

In his mind, his ideal wife would be an intellectual just like him. Preferably smart, but not as smart as him, who was just as clingy as he was, who understood and could care for him, and who was perhaps a little more on the dominant side. He was always embarrassed with the fact that he liked dominant women, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding one, or at least, hoping one would find him.

“So, you’re opening yourself up to new relationships,” his therapist, Dr. Taylor Smith said, an encouraging smile on her face. Jonathan had been with her for years, and while they were strictly professional, Jonathan couldn’t help but be slightly attached to her. It was what happened when someone gave him even the slightest ounce of affection.

“I suppose so,” Jonathan responded, not knowing what else to say.

“If you’re ready for it, I think you should go out and start talking to people,” Smith suggested. “You have a lot of colleagues, you could start there.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’ve stopped asking me to lunches.”

“Because you decline all the time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t you ask them first?”

Jonathan frowned again. “I’d rather not.”

Smith gave a knowing look. “And how do you suppose to meet people, then?”

Jonathan didn’t want to answer. He knew he was being silly, but he just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Eventually someone would come along and ask him out, right? He just had to wait a little . . . Perhaps he could loiter around some bookstores or near the lectures he attended so he could meet a woman who was like-minded.

“Look,” Smith said, intertwining her hands. “Before we meet again next week, I want you to have made an effort towards a relationship. Friendship would be a good start.”

“I have friends. Harleen is — fine,” Jonathan relented, after seeing the glare his therapist was giving. “I’ll do that. It’ll be my homework,” he joked, but on the inside he was thoroughly annoyed.

+++

Jonathan’s first idea was to go to a coffee shop. He had been starved for some caffeine and decided that instead of making one at home he could go out and get one. He parked his car in a nearby garage and walked over to a local shop. It had a long line of impatient-looking people, moody, too, at that.

He took his place in line, inhaling the sweet aroma of the atmosphere. A few people were working, typing away at their laptops, while others were with their friends or family or partners. He tried to look as casual as possible, sweeping his hair over his forehead every once in a while, but then he stopped, feeling stupid.

He felt like a kid back in highschool trying to get a girl’s attention. Everyone here was either already with someone or rushing to get out. It was a dumb idea. He’d just get his coffee and leave.

Maybe he could just ask his coworkers at the asylum. They were nice enough, and it would probably do good on his work relationships if he made an effort on them.

When he got to the counter he ordered a small latte and went on his way, but after turning the corner he bumped into someone. They were holding a cup of coffee — from the same cafe he just went to. The cap, which must not have been applied properly, fell to the ground, and all the hot, brown liquid splashed onto both him and . . . and . . . the lady from the bus station?

Jonathan hissed at the burning sensation, but restrained himself from letting out a small scream. A few people stopped and turned to look at them. A few of them in pity, others stifling their giggles, while one man offered to go get some napkins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman — you — said, grabbing some napkins from the man and wiping your blouse off.

Jonathan glared.

“What is wrong with you?” he sneered, his face contorted in controlled disgust. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? I don’t — look, I’m really sorry, sir,” you fervently apologized, which made Jonathan feel a bit bad. “Here — some napkins — ”

“ — Don’t bother,” Jonathan said, looking down at his suit, though his tone was a bit softer.

There was a moment of silence. Jonathan admired your features for those few moments, and thought back to how he wrote about you in his journal. His cheeks flushed a light pink at the memory. Imagine what would happen if you found out . . .

“Aren’t you going to say sorry, too?”

Jonathan sighed, getting annoyed again. “I’m sorry,” but it was sarcastic.

“I want to hear a genuine apology,” you said, but before Jonathan could say anything, you continued, “That or . . . you buy me another cup of coffee and we go our separate ways.”

Jonathan was caught off guard, but he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to do what he came here for: make a friend. And she was so obviously flirting.

“Alright. But we’ll be quick. I have to change.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

You both walked back to the coffee shop, standing in line as you looked over the menu. Jonathan wondered what to say.

“It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” he said, feeling sticky as his dress shirt stuck to his skin. “We meet at the bus station, then here . . .”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Jonathan couldn’t believe that you didn’t remember. “I introduced myself to you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. And you told me your name.”

You thought for a moment, eyes dazed for a few seconds, but when you looked back at him you shook your head. “I-I suppose you look familiar, but I don’t really remember . . . I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

Eventually, you both got up to the front. You ordered another coffee and Jonathan paid with his card. This time, he made sure your lid was secured on properly. When he got out of the cafe for the second time that day, he felt disappointed that he had to leave you again.

At the bus station he had let you go, and was he about to do the same thing here? No. He would try, shoot his chance. If it didn't work, so what? He would get over it.

“I can walk you back to your car,” Jonathan offered, taking a sip of his coffee, which thankfully he didn’t drop when he bumped into you.

“I don’t want to bother you,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s all the way down the road.”

“I insist,” he said.

You smiled. It was such a sweet smile, Jonathan wished he could igraine the memory into his mind forever.

“What do you do for work?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

“Real estate,” you responded. “You?”

“I’m a psychiatrist . . .”

He didn’t mention the fact that he worked at Arkham. It was infamous in Gotham, and not that great of a conversation starter. Jonathan didn’t want this to turn into an interview about what it’s like to work there, how the patients were, and so on.

When you and Jonathan reached your car, he felt that odd sense of dread again. He was near a closed-off area behind a shop. It was one of those places that had parking lots for behind a store, and was shaped almost like a square. The shop was closed, and there was only one car in the area — presumably yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a laugh after seeing the look on his face. “There was no parking nearby. I’m actually kind of glad you walked me . . . it’s a little scary all by myself.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Jonathan said with a shrug, ignoring his instincts. He walked you to the car, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked out.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against Jonathan Crane’s skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then he stopped, and let a defeated sigh escape his lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped. Since he woke up he had been trying to get out of this place — out of this basement, it looked to be. His thoughts flooded his head a million times, and it was impossible for him to produce a semblance of coherent thinking. He begged his brain to stop working, to just be quiet for a moment so he could control his emotions and focus, but it wouldn’t. It left him tired and confused and scared.

What happened to me?

Why am I here?

Was that woman responsible for this? Did she kidnap me? Oh god, she kidnapped me.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

People are going to notice I’m missing. The police will come for me, I’ll be fine.

No they won’t. It’s Gotham, no one will do anything about it.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop it. Stop thinking.

After a while, he got his thoughts to quiet, but before he could be rational, the padlock clicked and the door opened. He backed into a corner — well, as far as his binding would let him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

It was you. You were his captor. His doom.

You placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Cinnamon and honey filled the air. It had little pieces of apple cut up, and even some chocolate chips on the side. It was absolutely heavenly, and Jonathan could feel his mouth water at just the sight of it. He restrained himself, however. He was not that hungry, at least not yet, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisioned.

“I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead. Avoiding the question.

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

Was it wrong that for a moment Jonathan felt nice? In all his life, he never had someone care for him, but here, someone had gone through the effort of kidnapping him just to be with him. He felt stupid for thinking like that. This wasn’t some story, it was reality, and in reality, you didn’t actually love him. You were obsessed. Obsessed . . . Was he that incapable of being loved that people had to either hate him or obsess over him like an object? Was there no in-between?

There were a few more words exchanged. You brushed your fingers against his skin, and though he pulled away, he couldn’t deny the affection rising within him. No one had ever touched him this gently before, this kindly.

You left, leaving Jonathan alone in the cold, dark room. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached for the bowl, and began eating.

+++

A few weeks had passed by. Jonathan couldn’t tell if the weather outside had begun to turn warm, or if it was still as cold as the last time he saw it. He never knew what time it was unless you came down with food, and even then, he was probably a couple of hours off. As he spent time in that basement, searching for a way out, he felt a sense of desperate hopelessness creep onto him. Would he ever make it out alive?

He couldn’t believe that he was even in this situation. After insulting you and calling you names, he resorted to fervent begging, but even that wasn’t enough to make you let him go. In your delusion you had made his life a misery. He couldn’t keep living in your basement like some sort of pet, forced to bathe in front of you and constantly monitored by cameras.

Maybe Jonathan would have liked you better if you actually gave him a nice room to sleep in. Or if you made something other than acai bowls and fruit smoothies all the time.

He could see it in your eyes that you truly believed you loved him, and it made him feel scared. While he overviewed cases like this and met people with the same mentality to kidnap and stalk, he still didn’t know what to do. In a part of his brain, he thought that maybe you weren’t so bad and that you could have been torturing him right now, but instead was being kind and thoughtful.

You tried to apply cream to his bruised wrists, and you didn’t even scold him for trying to get out of the handcuffs. He made it a difficult process, but it was because he was afraid. He had never been touched like that before. You were making him feel all sorts of things — anger, confusion, fear.

It didn’t help when you brought down a present for him. A book on chemistry, and another on psychology. It was wrapped in a box, which was wrapped in a light-blue color. Why were you so sweet? In all his years, he had never gotten a present as meaningful as this. His heart had wrenched uncomfortably, and he had to remind himself who you were, what type of person you were.

Maybe if he used this book to hit you over the head with, it would knock you out and he could escape. He could use it to break the chains, too. They were hardcover, and th

———

(I stopped writing here.)

The rest of this section was just going to be through Jonathan’s perspective.

iii.

You opened the door hesitantly, a wave of guilt flooding your body. Jonathan lay there on the floor, beaten and bruised, shivering in a corner even though he had a blanket around him. He didn’t smell good, but you expected it to be worse, so you took it as a sign that things could still be salvaged.

———

(I stopped writing here).

Jonathan is passed out, barely able to move. For the next few days, you nurse him back to health. You clean him, feed him, and give him better clothing. He doesn’t fight back. Slowly, he starts to accept his new environment and you upgrade him to a guest bedroom, but you still lock the doors and windows so he can’t escape.

The police officer comes back to flirt. You’re annoyed, but you know you need him for info. The police officer starts to get suspicious, and out of fear he’ll do something, you murder him. The murder is sort of the climax of the story.

After that whole ordeal, Jonathan has been completely conditioned by you, but the ending is open-ended. “The Doll’s Burial” is meant to represent a burial of his true self, replaced by a version you created, or, his actual death. It depends on you — do you get bored of him, is it truly an obsession? Or do you truly love him, and are willing to spend your whole life as his wife?

Tagging in case ya'll are still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

@nela-cutie

@slut4thebroken

@wild-rose-35

@madeinuk

@flwrs4aust

@httpxgray

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

130 notes · View notes

loggiepj · 19 days ago

Text

To Love A Lannister

chapter 17 | chapter 18

A door softly creaked behind you, the eerie sound making you turn from where you were sitting only to look at the intruder.

Queen Daenerys had typical Valyrian features of silver-gold hair, purple eyes and pale skin. Anyone would be a fool to deny of her beauty. Aside from her slender like figure, what stood out the most was the tough exterior she possessed from her gaze.

One thing was for certain. Your sister looked more Targaryen than you could ever be.

"How's your wound?" Queen Daenerys asked. Missandei was standing behind her with head bowed down.

Forcing out a weak smile her way while massaging your arm, you shrugged. "Pain's barely there anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," she said as she chuckled, moving inside the room then taking a seat beside you on the bed. "You're my sister. . . My only family left. Call me Dany."

"You're my Queen," you declared, the word causing a bitter taste in your mouth. Cersei would always be your Queen. And you'd bleed for her a thousand times if you had to. It sparked a dilemma inside your heart.

"You don't have to prove your loyalty to me," Daenarys said as she stood abruptly, heading towards the window where she could see your dragon Nymeros towering over her children. It was apparent that Nymeros was older and more massive than the Queen's two smallest dragons combined. "We're Targaryen by blood. And the right rulers of the Seven Kingdom. I'm sure nothing could persuade you from that," she paused, "well, not unless you're still devoted to her."

Your gazes met and hers sported a questioning curiosity. You knew she was referring to Cersei and your love affair. Upon knowing Tyrion as her hand when you arrived at Dragonstone just two weeks ago, you believed Daenerys knew more about you than you knew about her. Varys was even one of her counselors. There wasn't a single thing Varys didn't know.

"I'm sure you have heard about what happened in the Capital upon their return," she went on, walking past you as she headed back to the door.

Of course, you had. It was chaos.

Cersei had taken over the throne. It turned out that after her father's death, King Tommen had gone mentally incapable to rule the Kingdom, rendering him bed ridden and mute. You pitied the boy so much but who wouldn't go crazy if your own wife would leave you just like that.

But you couldn't blame Margaery either when she went ballistic upon finding out her grandmother Lady Olenna was assassinated by Ser Jaime himself. It appeared that the Lannisters had finally found out she was the culprit behind late King Joffrey's murder.

They had also taken captive those from Dorne who attempted to execute Princess Myrcella, including Oberyn and your guardian father.

If you had to be honest, you felt a bit hurt that Cersei was now ruling with the support of Prince Doran, your real father, by her side, considering what he did and did not do to claim you as his child.

"People like them have no heart to rule Westeros," Daenerys continued, bringing you back to the present. "It will never change. . . All we have now is each other."

~~~

"I thought I'd never get to see you again," you said, greeting Tyrion as he climbed down a boat along the shores of Dragonstone. There were a group of men following his stead, and a couple of others still on their boats.

"I still have luck on my side, My Lady," he replied, looking at the sky where anyone could see four dragons flying around the castle. "It's a nice addition to the group, you know. If I had known sooner you're more than just a viper from the South, I would have served you well."

A forced cough made you look at the strangers. There was a different kind of aura coming from the burly man with a beard looking at you as if you knew each other.

"Excuse my bad manners, Lady Y/n, this is Jon Snow—"

"King Jon Snow," another man with thin white hair corrected, stepping beside Jon. "He's King in the North now."

"Right." Tyrion could only sigh. "This is Ser Davos, Jon's advisor."

"I thought the Seven Kingdoms only have one ruler," you said, earning a curious look from Jon. "I don't think my sister will appreciate such title."

"We have business to discuss with Queen Daenerys," Jon answered, walking past you, "about the things happening right now in the North. Titles will have no meaning if we're all dead."

You looked at Tyrion in confusion as he shrugged his shoulders. He urged for you to follow them as they headed towards the castle, where you could see from a distance Queen Daenerys looking down below at all of you. "The North is currently at war against the Night King."

"And we need more men," Jon added, his voice sounding urgent, "and we need more dragonglass and forge them into weapons."

"Dragonglass are known to be effective against the White Walkers," Tyrion explained by your side as you walked together. "They had been mining back and forth for months now."

"So it's true then, what they say about the White Walkers?" you asked.

Jon gave one look at you before he nodded, "Either you have dragonglass or Valyrian steel, we have no chance against them."

"What about the dragons?"

Jon bit back his mouth before he turned, walking away from you. Ser Davos gave a small bow before he went after Jon.

Tyrion sighed beside you. "He's still convincing the Queen to fight alongside him."

"What's stopping Dany?"

"Cersei."

You turned to look at him.

He went on. "Queen Daenerys will only fight with Jon if they both bent the knee in her favor. Both Jon and Cersei."

You knew then Jon would have to fight alone because there was no chance Cersei would do such a thing.

~~~

After what seemed like a lifetime discussing about the plans on the war against the White Walkers and how to convince Cersei to give up the Iron Throne, you surrendered to the darkness of the night outside the castle, facing the lonely shores of Dragonstone.

You had visited Nymeros half an hour ago. The dragon was happy it was finally where he belonged yet you could tell he was uneasy for the fight that was about to come.

"You look so much like your mother if you only had silver hair." The alluring accent made you alert and look behind you. It was none other than the Red woman herself, Melisandre. She was wearing her red cloak, a hood over her head as her eyes pierced right through you.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came into your mind. The last time you remembered, she was serving Stannis Baratheon, who died during one of the battles in the North.

"Serving the true heir to the throne," she replied, wrapping her arms around her body as the cold breeze from the sea blew towards the both of you.

"My sister have four dragons to her side," you said, chuckling lightly. "I barely think she needs a dedicated follower of the Lord of the Light too."

"I wasn't talking about her," Melisandre replied, now looking at the dark horizon before you.

Her firm response made you stare at the woman. There was no chance she knew about your parentage.

"You were there," you began, slowly remembering, "you were there at the boar hunt Joffrey had planned, at the ambush."

"I was there to protect you," she answered, "as I have sworn since the day you were born."

"What?"

"If I weren't there when Stannis' soldiers attacked you, that arrow would have lunged straight to your heart."

"But you distracted me—"

"Did I really?" Mellisandre looked at you with a smirk on her face before she turned away.

You swallowed nervously. "When you say since the day I was born. . ."

"Yes, I was there when Rhaella gave birth to you," she said. "You were so tiny then, yet your cries were as fierce as a dragon's. Rhaella made me swear to look after you and I did. All these years."

There was a brief silence of you trying to understand what she was telling you. No, she could just be lying to you. She was a witch after all.

"It was me who set Nymeros free from his chains in the cave when you were still young," she went on, "if he'd still be chained, he wouldn't be able to save you from drowning. Or that time you were held hostage by a band of thieves from Braavos, where you mysteriously succeeded in escaping not knowing your captors were already unalived."

"Why? What are you to my mother? Why do you owe her that much to save a child you barely knew?"

Melisandre only went silent, avoiding your gaze.

~~~

"Let me convince her," you said, seeing defeat from your sister and Jon's faces when they came back from the Capital with no good news. Cersei didn't waver. She was stubborn, face stoic as what Ser Davos had observed when she watched a White Walker Jon had captured from the North just to convince everyone in Westeros that death was real.

Daenerys even lost one of her dragons for that quest, yet Cersei was still merciless and selfish.

Daenerys scoffed. "You think she'd bend the knee just because you did? I thought you know her enough."

"I know she'd never bend the knee, but she'd fight alongside with you if she knew what we're facing against—"

"She had enough of that evidence running straight to her face yet it still didn't scare her," Ser Davos butted in.

"Cersei, however less of expression her face shows, is mighty convinced the sea surrounding the Capital will keep the White Walkers away," Varys chimed in. "Unless they have figured out ways to swim or fly."

"Which they can now that they have one of my children," Daenerys hissed.

"I know Cersei since I was a child," Jon interrupted. "She has no heart—"

"You're wrong," you said, defending Cersei. You were whipped, but you knew the Lannister woman better than anyone in the room did. "You don't know her better than I do. She cares enough even when she doesn't show it—"

"Maybe to you," Tyrion said. "But what about now when you're no longer a good fuck to her?"

You glared at Tyrion, knowing he had a point. You didn't exactly leave Cersei in good terms.

"You always knew what she was but you loved her anyway," Tyrion added, sighing in defeat.

"At least, let me try," you pleaded, now facing Daenerys. She was hesitant to let you go. She hadn't even let you go with them. Maybe she did care about you. Or maybe she didn't trust you enough to be loyal to her and go back.

"Bring Nymeros with you," Daenerys said, as she walked away from the counselors. You nodded eagerly amidst the complaints from others, not wasting another second to leave the room.

~~~

"Did you forget what I said I'd do when I see you step your foot in the Capital?" Cersei's cold voice echoed through the entire hall. "You are looking for death if you think I'd help you and your usurper of a sister's cause."

You knew you should be scared. Tyrion had been right all along. You were immediately captured the moment Nymeros left you as soon as you landed on the shores of the Red Keep, near the Blackwater gates.

But even when the Queen's guards poked you with their spears as they forced you to kneel before her, before Cersei herself, you couldn't find it in yourself to be terrified of her.

For almost two months of not seeing her, all you wanted to do was kiss the woman, hug her, touch her and more. Cersei looked much fiercer and tougher than she was the last time you saw her. She had changed yet beauty still incomparable. Her golden hair was adorned with the most elegant looking crown with the Lannister's sigil.

Aside from Nymeros, she was truly the only beautiful thing you had ever witnessed in your life.

But of course, Cersei never cared about you. You were just a good lay, as Tyrion had said.

"My Queen," you bowed down your head, "I plead for you to take mercy. We need more men to fight in the North. We cannot defeat the White Walkers without your help—"

"And what? After the war, you all would seek the throne? When my men are already depleted, you'd take advantage over us? Do you think me of a fool, Lady Y/n?"

You met her gaze, and she was gritting her teeth, anger seething.

"I will never bend the knee," Cersei said with finality in her tone. You exhaled heavily. If you could just talk to her alone, you'd make her understand.

You were about to retort but she held her hand, stopping you. "We will deal with what it's left when you fight against the White Walkers."

Your eyes never wandered as you stared right through her, waiting if she'd also break like you did. However when Prince Doran entered the hall, his eyes on you, you looked away.

"Y/n Martell," Doran called, now standing beside the Queen. "Finally on your knees ready to commit to your crimes?"

"For what? For being your daughter?" you snide back.

Doran went silent for a moment before he walked slowly towards you, unsheathing his sword from his belt. "She was never born. You're no daughter of mine. You're an impostor."

"She is mine to execute," Cersei said, standing up from her seat.

Doran shook his head, facing the Lannister woman. "I chose to serve you, Your Grace. But when one of my people had betrayed me, they will only answer to me alone."

Then he looked back at you. "I've loved Rhaella with all my life but she also chose to betray me in the end. I married her even, convinced the Citadel to annul their marriage beforehand," the statement made everyone in the hall whisper, "yet when I told her to go to Dorne to finally be with me, she chose to stay with the Mad King."

"Are you not sure she was not referring to stay away from you?"

Doran glared at you before he raised his sword ready to hit, but a blade went through his chest, making him gulp in his own blood.

"Bring Y/n to the dungeons," the Queen announced when Doran's body hit the floor with a loud thud. Jamie stood behind Doran, holding a bloody sword. The guards dragged your frozen limb, your eyes still on the bloody figure of the man you thought who'd accept you as his own.

~~~

"The Queen has requested me to escort Y/n to her council room," Qyburn announced to the soldiers guarding you outside your cell in the dungeon not half an hour later from the incident.

When you and Qyburn headed through empty corridors of the castle, you attempted to untie the rope around your wrists. Qyburn helped you when you both have arrived at the door and you were still unsuccessful of untying it yourself.

Cersei was alone, staring out the windows with her hand on the railing, when you entered the room. Qyburn then closed the door, leaving you two.

The air had suddenly gone heavy. The Queen turned her head to finally look at you.

When it was only the two of you, there was an unspoken tension. You swallowed nervously, ready to speak yet Cersei's eyes on you didn't waver.

And as if on instinct, she moved forward towards you as you met her halfway, her arms welcoming you as you embraced her back so tightly. Breathing everything that was her, you tightened your hug around the woman, afraid that if you'd let her go, it would be the last time.

Cersei's hands fisted around your tunic, unbelievable strength coming from the Lannister woman. Then you pulled away as you cupped her face, pulling her close as you pressed your lips against hers.

And it was carnal. The hunger you had for each other was incomparable. Her hands held your head against hers, pulling you closer and closer.

She was devouring you like she had been deprived from sustenance. You pushed the woman against the wall as you returned the same force she showed, tongues dancing against each other, short breaths, gasps, sighs, and moans managed to come out from the little moments your lips would pull away from each other before reconnecting.

And then you could taste it. The bitter taste of Cersei's tears made you pull away, cupping her face gently as the woman only tried to chase after your mouth.

Leaning your forehead against hers, your thumbs wiped the offending liquid before meeting her lips in a slow soft kiss.

"I miss you," Cersei croaked, misery evident in her voice.

Giving her a weak smile, you nodded back. "There's not a day when I didn't think of you, Cersei. Even my dreams were filled with the thoughts of you."

"Why?"

You slowly pulled away as you met her cold hard gaze, her eyes carrying a look of disdain.

"Why did you not come back?"

"I couldn't —"

But then Cersei was already pushing you away as she walked towards her desk, licking her lips with the taste from you. "You didn't even send me a raven."

"Dany—"

Her mocking laughter stopped you. "Dany? You've barely even known her and you're already calling her Dany—"

"She's my sister," you answered, moving towards her.

"Well, I'm your . . . ," she stammered, hesitant. "I'm your . . ."

You could see the dilemma on her face and you pulled her closer. "You're still my Queen. You're my other half, the one I love."

Cersei bit her lower lip to stop herself from sobbing. Then she shook her head as she pushed you away again, turning to look at the window.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, exhaling a heavy breath. "Your love doesn't matter. Your feelings don't matter."

There was a pause of silence before you ended it.

"Then why are we here? Why did you allow me to come?"

The Lannister woman scoffed. "Not to help my enemies collaborate in my destruction. Jon Snow has now chosen to serve her. You have already submitted to her, and now you're making me too—"

"I want you to help us. To help the realm—"

"But eventually, you want everyone to bend the knee to her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I think she will make the world a better place."

"You think she will not be like her father, the Mad King?"

"She has trusted advisors who would check her worst impulses instead of feeding them."

"Mm, my traitor of a brother. Fine," she walked away, "serve her. Choose her. What you said are true. I don't care about checking my worst impulses. I don't care about making the world a better place. Hang the world. That thing they dragged here, I know what it is, I know what it means. And when it came at me, I didn't think about the world. Not at all."

She stopped, her hand on her stomach. Then she looked at you and she still looked as lost as she was.

You heard Nymeros roar from a distance, growing impatient wondering where you were and why you had not come back.

"Ever wondered why your dragon did not attack me that day you left Dorne?" she asked. You stared at her in confusion. "It was because a part of you is already living inside of me."

And your eyes instinctively went to the hand on her stomach. You slowly approached her, your shaking hands caressing her lower stomach.

"It's . . ." You stopped, memories of Jaime's threats swimming in your head.

The sight made Cersei sad, her hand cupping your face. "I have not been with anyone other than you. I swear on my mother's deathbed. If the dragon had sensed it, then you should know it's true. It's yours, Y/n."

"It's mine?" you asked again, voice almost crying from happiness. The smile on your face hurt. She nodded back, pressing her forehead against yours. Your arms slithered around her, hers around your back, her head buried in your neck as you hugged each other.

"Then you know that I must leave," you said, making the woman lose her control, pull away and sob in front of you, shaking her head. "For you and our baby, Cersei—"

"No, Y/n, I want you here! With me! With us!"

"Death is upon us if we won't take action," you reasoned with her, hands cupping around her face. "I won't let that happen."

"You can't do anything to stop them," Cersei spat back. "They had even defeated one of her dragons—"

"We have three against one—"

"If the dragons can't stop them, if Dothraki and Unsullied and Northmen can't stop them, how will our armies make a difference?" she hissed, tears rolling down her face as you failed to stop her from crying. "This isn't about noble houses anymore, this is about the living and the dead! And I intend to stay amongst the living."

"Cersei—"

"Let the Stark boy and his new queen defend the North. We stay here where we've always been, where we belong."

"I made a promise to my sister—"

"Our child will rule Westeros. Doran admitted his marriage to your mother Rhaella. I made Qyburn consult with the Citadel Maesters and it's true what Doran said. Rhaella's marriage to the Mad King was annuled before she bore Daenerys. This makes you the rightful heir—"

"Our child will never be born if the dead come south," you said.

Shaking her head, Cersei stood her ground. "Let the monsters kill each other. And while they battle in the North, we take back the lands that belong to us, that your sister took."

"And then what?"

"And then we rule."

"When the fighting in the North is over, someone wins. You understand that, don't you? If the dead win, they march south and kill us all—"

"If the living win, and we've betrayed them, they march south and kill us all! They already want to kill us all. Most of them will die in the North."

You slowly pulled away, knowing there wasn't a single thing that would change the Lannister woman's mind. She was set to be selfish. But you'd do anything for her, for your child.

Cersei sighed as she made her way to her desk, leaning against the wood. You made your way to the door, planning your escape, knowing your visit was a failure. "Leave through the tunnels down the Kitchen's Keep. It will lead you straight to a trail beside the Blackwater Rush. The soldiers won't see you there."

You turned to look at the woman, who was already staring at you. Eyes spoke more what words couldn't. "I hate that you still choose to betray me."

"I love you," you said, "and I'm doing this for the both of you."

When you were about to close the door, you heard shuffling behind before the woman engulfed you in an embrace, hugging your back, her arms around your stomach.

"Cersei—"

"Come back to me alive," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come back alive and I will give that sister of yours thousands of my men to fight alongside you."

A smile crept into your face as you turned around and hugged the woman back. "I promise. You're my home, Cersei. You'll always be my home."

The clutch Cersei had on your back tightened as she buried her face deeper into your chest.

Author's note: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link.

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #g!p reader #angst #daenerys targaryen

139 notes · View notes

scribblesofagoonerr · 5 months ago

Text

— the bubbles are pink, jackass!

pairings: leah williamson x child reader!buddy x reader!monkey

summary: buddy learns a new word from monkey and can't stop repeating it, meanwhile leah's almost have a breakdown over it.

Thank you to @alotofpockets for her help with getting this one started as well!

"The bubbles are pink, jackass!"

The not so innocent words that slip out of the 3 year old's mouth are enough to make Leah completely freeze in her spot and widen her eyes in disbelief.

"D... Did she just," Leah stutters her words in horror, having to question herself if she heard it right, "Did you just hear that then?" She wonders.

Looking to where Buddy is sat on the sofa playing with Mr. Bear, the blonde's still baffled to hear what is said and doesn't want to believe it came from the little one.

Meanwhile your minding your own business, pretty much hyper focused on scrolling through your Instagram while eating your cereal, "Oh yeah, I heard that," You can't help but snort in amusement, feeling a sense of pride for your little buddy, "Clear as day."

Leah clicks her tongue disapprovingly once she's gotten over the shock horror of the words coming out of her innocent little girls mouth, "Need I ask where she heard that from?" She questions.

"Accusations! False accusations!" You drop your spoon in the bowl of cereal and point your finger directly at the blonde.

"Mhm sure, I don't believe that for a single second," Leah murmurs, shaking her head in disagreement, "I know exactly what you're like at times!"

"ExCuSe Me!?" You gasp in shock at the blonde pointing her finger at you straight away, "You know nothing... Nothing, Jon Snow!"

So you'd been a bit hooked on Game of Thrones, but so what?

"Oh really, so if I don't ask her then she wouldn't tell me that?" The blonde remarks, raising her eyebrow which makes you suddenly go silent, "Yeah, that's what I thought!"

"Okay so maybe I did but in my defense, it's not even that bad of a word!" You can't help defend yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

"No, no, I don't wanna hear it!" Leah held her hand up to cut you off from speaking any more, "Monkey, she's 3! You know that she listens to everything that you say!" The blonde's face is furious and you know that you did mess up this time.

You should really try and stop talking, but of course you do the exact opposite.

Shrugging your shoulders, you go back to staring at the Instagram screen, "There's kids that have said so much worse--"

"Ah, ah, no I said I don't want to hear it!" The blonde states, firmly, "Stop talkin', Monkey!"

"I'm just sayin' that I'm not surprised she hasn't picked up something worse," You insist, knowing there's been times where you've been playing on the PS and your not so colourful language has slipped out, "So many things worse than that word."

"Your really diggin' your own grave here, Menace," Leah states, continuing to look at you annoyed before she looks over to her mini-me, "Buddy, can you come here a second?" She calls over to get 3 year old's attention.

"Hi mummy," The little one flashes the blonde an innocent smile, before she runs over to you both with her hands still clutching the teddy bear, "Look, I got Mr. Bear!"

"Yeah I can see that, Buddy," The blonde laughs faintly, hoisting the toddler up onto her hip, "Listen here, missus, me and you need to have a little chat."

"About what, mummy?" Buddy cocks her head to the side, curiously.

You can't help but snicker in amusement, "You got a sailor mouth and half, Buddy-- Which she totally didn't get off me!" You start to speak as you see the scowl Leah's giving you and are quick to state to avoid the wrath of the blonde, "Alright, I'm just gonna... I'm gonna shut up now."

"Wise decision," Leah comments, pursing her lips before she turns her attention to the little one in the room, "We need to talk about the er, the sentence that you said." She tells, not really sure how best to approach this.

Buddy continues to look confused, "What sen... sentence?"

"The one that you said to Mr. Bear over there," Leah explains, exhaling a sigh.

"Oh!" Buddy's eyes widen in realisation, "You mean when I told him that the bubbles are pink, Jackass?" The question sounds so innocent coming from your favourite little buddy.

You can't help but crack up laughing right there again, "You can't blame me for that once this time!" Moving to drop your bowl into the sink, you lean up against the kitchen counter as you can't wait to hear the rest of how this conversation is going to play out.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Leah is quick to stop Buddy from saying anything further, "Okay there's no need to repeat it again, Buddy. Can you tell mummy why you said it?" She wonders.

The 3 year old exhales a sigh dramatically and you swear she even did so much as roll her eyes, "Because mummy, the bubbles are pink!"

"Final piece," You speak aloud, accepting the lego block from your favourite little buddy as you attach it to the rest of it, "And there we go, done!" You announce, grinning proudly.

"Yay!" Buddy lets' out an excited squeal and claps her hands, "Can we do more now?" She questions with a glint of hope in her eyes.

You shrug your shoulders carelessly, "Eh, I don't see why not. Which one shall we build now?" You wonder.

Much to Leah's relief, your little buddy hadn't had any slip ups with her newfound sailor mouth.

You didn't fancy taking the blame for that one, again.

"This one!" The toddler points to the new lego set that you'd both picked out together and claps her hands in excitement.

You love how much she loves lego, its' great because it means you can do it together!

You can't help but get carried away with it sometimes.

"Alright, time to get ready for bed now, Buddy!" Leah interrupts the fun that your both having with the lego set.

Buddy looks up at Leah with an adorable pout, "No, mummy. 5 more minutes!" She insists.

Your an absolute sucker for her puppy dog eyes most of the time.

That's why your guilty of letting her get away with so much, sometimes.

Well, actually, pretty much all of the time.

"Come on, you've had long enough," Leah shakes her head in disagreement, "It's time to put your jammies on and get into bed now."

"But mummy," Buddy tries her luck to push for extra time.

Leah smiles a little and shakes her head once again, "No, come on. There will be plenty of time to play with lego tomorrow," Her decision remains firm but still gentle with her mini-me, "Come on, let's go."

"No fair," The 3 year old huffs dramatically and gets up from the floor.

What can you say? She's taking lessons from you.

You even swear she's sometimes more dramatic than you, if that's possible.

"I know," The blonde can't help but laugh amusedly at the toddlers' flare for dramatics.

"No playin' lego without me, Monkey!" Buddy states, bluntly, "I mean it!"

For a 3 year old, she sure is bossy sometimes, and well, no doubt where she gets that from.

"You got it, Bud!" You mock salute the mini blonde, jokingly.

With that being said, you flop onto the sofa and scroll through your TikTok page while Leah takes Buddy upstairs to get ready for bed.

"Wait, Monkey needs to join us for the story!" Ten minutes later, you hear protests from your favourite little buddy upstairs.

It's a routine every single night.

You suppress a grin and jump up from the sofa to head up the stairs two at a time, "I heard my name mentioned!" You exclaim, walking into the bedroom to find Buddy dressed in her pajamas while Leah's searching for a book to read.

You don't know why she bothers to find a new one though, when Buddy always end up wanting to read the same thing every time.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

"Agh! Monkey!" The sound of Buddy's shrieks fill the room as you lift her up and spin her around.

"Do you have to rile her up so much before she's about to go to bed?" Leah questions, exhaling a sigh as she picks out the same book.

Shocker, you already knew it would be that.

You mischievously grin at the blonde, "Can't help it now, can I?" Placing the toddler on the floor, she beams a wide smile at you.

"I'm goin' bed now, Monkey. Mummy's gonna read a story!" Buddy states clear as day, sometimes your impressed by the 3 year old's vocabulary.

Her speech is somewhat impeccable for her age.

"You are?" You faux a gasp as her little hands cling around your legs, "Alright, well I guess we'd better get comfy for storytime, eh?" You question, teasingly.

"Uh huh!" Buddy's more than happy to drag you in the direction of her toddler sized bed and your more than happy to oblige to anything that the 3 year old wants.

Like you said, you were easily convinced to do anything when it comes to your favourite little buddy.

"Alright then kids, are we both comfy?" Leah chuckles, watching you as you settle into the small bed beside the 3 year old, its' not that comfortable but Buddy's happy and that's the main thing right now.

"Comfy," You reply, giving her a mocking thumbs up.

"Comfy," Buddy mimics you, giving the blonde a thumbs up as well.

"How many times' are we gonna say the word comfy?" You joke, referring back to the video that the blonde did with Keira during an England camp.

"Menace," Leah lets out a laugh and shakes her head, before she begins to read the story book.

You know most of the lines in the book, so you can't help but read it out word for word, much to Buddy's protest.

"Monkey, stop. Mummy's reading!" Your favourite little buddy huffs, glaring at you almost identical to the way that Leah usually does.

Although coming from a 3 year old is less terrifying at least.

"Sorry, sorry," You can't help but chuckle, trying to refrain from speaking any more of the words out loud to avoid any further annoyance from the 3 year old.

"Alright, all done," Leah states, closing the book and smiles at the sight of you both curled up together, Buddy's fighting to stay awake and your not far behind her, "Time to close your eyes, Buddy."

At least until you hear Buddys' next words.

Buddy lets' out a small yawn as she tiredly rubs her eyes, "Goodnight, Jackass!"

You can't help but snicker, "Oh now that is hilarious," Quickly catching the look of the stern blonde, you move your hand to cover your face to stifle any further laughter.

"Excuse me?" Leah's taken back by the response from the 3 year old.

"I believe she said--" You start to speak.

"I heard what she said!" Leah is quick to cut you off from repeating what the little one said as she turns to look at the youngster, "Buddy, why... why did you just call mummy that name?" She asks, confused.

"Cos' you are, and its' not a bad word. Even Monkey said so!" There goes your favourite little buddy throwing you right under the bus.

Damn it.

"Whoa, whoa, no, uh technically, I didn't... I didn't say that you were!" Your hands fly up in surrender, "I mean I didn't even say it like that, but uh..."

By the annoyed expression on the blondes' face, you decide to make the smart decision and shut up.

"You really need to watch your language around her," Leah murmurs, exhaling a sigh, "You know she literally absorbs words like a sponge nowadays!" Shes' scolding you, like it was all of your fault.

Well, technically... You didn't help matters, but you didn't think she would repeat it.

"That's right, Jackass!" Buddy exclaims, smiling like she was completely proud of herself.

Your not quite sure if she understands what the word means or not, but there's something funny about hearing swear words come out of a little kids' mouth.

"Hey, Buddy," Leah gets the attention of the 3 year old, "We don't swear and say words like that, do we?" She chides gently, but still trying to remain firm.

Buddy pouts in confusion, "Why not, mummy? Monkey says it all the time!" She insists.

Well that's backfired on you now.

You drop your mouth in shock, "Wha..."

Leah clicks her tongue in disappointment, "Yes and Monkey's shouldn't be using them sort of words either," She takes a moment to scowl at you while your just sat there cracking up laughing about it all, "You're not helping here, go and do something productive!"

You stand up from the toddlers' bed and hold your hands up in mock surrender, "Geesh, I say one bad word and suddenly I'm the bad guy round here." You murmur, jokingly.

"Go, now!" The blonde gestures in the direction of the bedroom door, shaking her head in disagreement, "Listen Buddy, you should know that even when you hear Monkey say words like that, it doesn't mean that you should always repeat them, okay?" You hear her continue to speak to Buddy as you make your way out of the bedroom.

"What, even when she says shit?" Buddy doesn't think twice to ask.

Leah exhales a short sigh, "Even when she says them words."

"But what about when you and mama say words like that, though?" Buddy questions innocently, cocking her head to the side with an expression that looks somewhat identical to Leah's.

"Ha, she got you there!" You can't help but snicker in amusement.

"Monkey!" Leah shouts to you in that firm tone of voice your all too familiar with.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'. Geesh!" You huff and continue to make your way to your own bedroom where you plan to watch another marvel film, or you were gonna but ear wigging is so much more fun sometimes.

"Sometimes, yes, even mama and I say words like that at certain times, but you still shouldn't be repeating them, okay?" Leah tells Buddy, trying to get her point across but in a gentle tone of voice.

"Okay, mummy!" Buddy nods along in agreement.

"So no more of the swearing, alright, little miss potty mouth?" Leah jokes, ruffling her mini-me's hair.

"You got it, dude," Buddy nods once again and sticks her thumb up, "Ove' you, Mummy!"

"That's my girl," Leah smiles and presses a gentle kiss on the 3 year old's forehead, "Night Buddy, I love you lots!"

Buddy lets out a small yawn and tiredly rubs her eyes, "Goodnight, Jackass."

You can't help but snort aloud in amusement once again, "Oh man, this kid!" You crack up with laughter, peering your head round the door and seeing the unamused expression on Leah's face once again.

"Right that's it, we're getting a swear jar!" Leah declares, shaking her head in disbelief.

#buddy #monkey #leah williamson x reader #chaos fc reader x separate reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #crossover #woso one shot #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader

296 notes · View notes

p1utofairy · 1 year ago

Text

PAC: “one hit of your love addicted me. now i’m strung out on you, darlin’, can’t you see?” 🕊️🕰️✨📨

• what will your first love be like?

disclaimer ✩: take what resonates, leave what doesn't. i wanted to try something new by including edits but ofc tumblr is annoying and doesn’t let you post more than 1 video ugh. hope you all enjoy this though! love you much.

PILE ONE.

hey pile 1 🎀 right off the bat i gotta say…your person could possibly give anakin skywalker vibes visually lolololol very tall, handsome and broody. i'm also thinking of jon snow from ‘game of thrones’ hmmm i think this just ties into the fact that your person is in their bag a good 85% of the time! they analyze and process their thoughts & emotions a lot, and this won’t change especially when it comes to their love and devotion for you. they are very intense and purposeful when it comes to love — there’s no faking it or forcing it. they say what they mean, and mean what they say. they hold themselves to a very high standard so i think they’ll be in their head a lot when it comes down to approaching you/courting you. they want to make sure that they’re doing and saying the right things…they want to make sure that you’re comfortable. they will prioritize you and take the time out to really get to know you! they don’t want to do the whole cliché “wyd” texts or just take you out to the movies. no, they want to be able to take you to places you’ve never been before & treat you to beautiful experiences that will stay with you forever. that’s how highly they think of you, pile 1! they think you deserve the best of the best and they will do everything in their power to give you just that. this person has been through a lot in their life and they’ve felt so alone and misunderstood. 9x out of 10 if they just got out of a relationship, their ex didn’t understand them or couldn’t match them emotionally. your person is big on “everything happens for a reason” so when you come into their life they’re going to feel so much joy and relief, it’s like you’re their saving grace. it’s that energy of — where have you been all my life? that scene of anakin and padmé in ‘star wars: attack of the clones’ on the balcony is coming to mind…the longing in their eyes before they share their first kiss. a lot of people may talk about y'alls relationship/how y'all got together. it's nothing scandalous…i just see people being infatuated? i’m picking up a lot of outside influences/opinions so just be careful of that…don't have too many people in your business cause i’m picking up that some of these people don’t have the best intentions and are secretly jealous. it’s giving very much “fan behavior” hm they might keep tabs or ask lots of questions about you and your person’s relationship…it’s weird. i think for some of you, you’ve been single for a long time, so it’s going to be a shock to a lot of people when you pop out with this person. once your person comes into your life you may start to notice multiple people show romantic interest in you and you’ll be like??? where tf were y’all at when i was single for ____ years?! LMFAOOOOO that’s hilarious but back to your first love, it’ll be beautifully intense. i see you giggling a lot, staring at your person with big starry eyes and a lot of physical touch between you two. it may not even be in a flashy way? i can just see you coming up behind them and placing a hand on their back to make your presence known…i see a lot of moments of them holding you in their arms and resting their forehead against yours — they’re looking at you with so much intensity…deep concentration and passion etched across their face and you just break out into this bright smile and they just melt. you look so innocent compared to them like there’s this light in your eyes that’s left their own a long time ago, but they feel so safe…so free to be themselves when they’re with you. you’re their heart, pile 1. i’m hearing that scene from ‘the bear’ when carmy tells sydney “i couldn’t do it without you. i wouldn’t even want to do it without you…” AWWWWEEEEEE.

via tnqkins on tiktok

other channeled messages:

who's that girl? by eve, shravana moon/rising, doe eyes, baby pink, curly hair, strong arms, yin & yang energy, younger/age difference, vishaka scorpio moon, hypnotic gaze, 10:10, mirroring each other, distinct cologne

PILE TWO.

heyyy pile 2! you will NOT expect to fall in love with this person wow, your feelings for them will actually catch you off guard. this person is not your usual type and that's what's so intriguing about them…you’ll never know what to expect with them; they’ll keep you on your toes. i think that you keep repeating cycles or keep going back to someone who is no good for you, but once you meet this person there’s no going back. you’ll gravitate towards them like a month drawn to a flame lol you can’t fight these feelings even if you wanted to. you might meet this person through a mutual friend or meet them in a group setting, i see other people around you both as you talk and get to know each other. there’s so much warmth that this person radiates…they feel like home to you. a hug from them could fix your bad day, a kiss from them could make your heart skip a beat 🥹 and their smile?! to see them smile at you will give you an instant serotonin boost. this relationship feels divine…it feels fated. it’s giving “right person at the right time” like everything leading up to this connection will make so much sense once you’re actually together. some of you that chose this pile are quick to self-sabotage or cut off a relationship before you can get too emotionally invested. you’ve built these walls up because you’ve been through a lot of shit and you don’t want the extra baggage a relationship can sometimes bring, but it’s gonna be different with this person. you’re going to be so open to receiving their love and reciprocating it, there’s going to be such a healthy balance between you two. i’m hearing that this person is going to be a wish fulfillment, pile 2. this might be a long distance relationship at first — you might have to travel to see each other or you both will like to travel to different places together. they will value you so much! they will wine and dine you, surprise you with your favorite things and make sure you always have whatever your heart desires. they love you and they will have no problem showing that.

other channeled messages:

short king, sagittarius, bisexual, when harry met sally, opposites attract, capricorn man, matcha latte, boyfriend by big time rush, saturn dominant, west virgina, virgo/6H placements, ruby, freckles

PILE THREE.

pile 333 🦢 whoa i'm already picking up that this is a love that only grows stronger and better with time; it ages like fine wine. WOW WOW WOW. i'm ngl i feel like this person is your divine counterpart…when i say you two are a match made in heaven — i mean it. you complete each other in ways that other people will never truly understand. there’s this unspoken love and desire between you two initially; i see you both stealing a lot of glances at each other, waiting for the other to cave in and say something…anything. you both want to close that space between you but don’t know exactly how to. i don’t think either of you has ever felt this way before about anybody 😮‍💨 this love is strong AF. it’s never a dull moment between you two, there’s always that underlying passion and spark ready to consume you both. i’m picking up that either your ex or their ex is going to be very envious of this relationship. they almost feel blindsided in a sense…they thought you were going to come back to them and give them another chance, so it's going to make them feel some type of way when they see that you’ve moved on. please be cautious of this ex pile 3…they don’t have good intentions at all and i pick up an obsessive vibe from them. we are blocking that all the way out 🧿 anyways! your person’s love language is more than likely quality time…they loveeeeeee spending time with you and stepping out of their comfort zone to try things that you like. there’s a solid friendship at the root of this connection pile 3…like not only is this person your lover, but they’re also your best friend wrapped into one. you will give them the key to your heart and vice versa. any other options or third party situations will be cut off/left behind because all you both can see is each other! nothing and no one can tear this relationship down because it’s built on such a strong foundation, you can see yourself with this person years down the line from now and they feel the exact same way. you’re home to them. i know this is your first love pile 3 but i wouldn’t be surprised if they popped the question 💍 — i'm just sayinnnnnnnnnn!

other channeled messages:

feel it by jacquees ft. lloyd & rich homie quan, la perla lingerie, just left a toxic relationship, rock the boat by aaliyah, air sign placements, 26, 111, lemon drop, leo, jaded by drake

#pac #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #love reading #pac reading #intuitive reading #tarot reading #energy reading #love pac #pac tarot #tarot #tarot pac #p1utofairy

813 notes · View notes

jackoshadows · 8 months ago

Text

I think we don't talk enough about how Jon Snow secretly had a sword made for Arya at Winterfell - without anyone knowing! And that this was something he was planning on for a while, with the intention to teach Arya some fundamental sword skills - without anyone knowing!!

It reminds me about how much Arya must have poured out her heart and soul to Jon Snow about EVERYTHING, considering how much Jon knows about her. The very best of confidantes who guarded their secrets with each other and are the most loyal of siblings.

It was to Jon Snow that Arya goes, after being bullied for her looks, worried that she too was a bastard and Jon who consoled her (ignoring his own pain at being one). It's Jon who praises her as pretty and clever and understands that deep curiosity and ambition in her.

It's Jon who understands that Arya is interested in something different and that this is also deserving of attention. The ONLY person in the whole of Winterfell - not her parents, her other siblings, her teacher. Only Jon Snow.

I can imagine Jon and Arya just hanging out in a quiet corner of the Godswood, under the weirwood, with Arya pouring out her frustrations and chatting about playing with the serving girls and Jon talking about his day practicing the sword. They know each other so well, that they are famous for finishing each other's thoughts. They share such a singular bond that he even got her sword name right!!

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon, AGoT

Making Needle wouldn't have been easy considering it had to be done secretly. Clearly Jon thought that both his father and Catelyn wouldn't have been happy if they knew that the bastard was having swords made for their daughter.

"Give it to me." Reluctantly Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. "A bravo's blade," he said. "Yet it seems to me that I know this maker's mark. This is Mikken's work." Lord Eddard Stark sighed. "My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?" - Arya, AGoT

Jon Snow took the time to research swords that Arya could hold and handle. He must have been up in Maester Luwin's turret looking through books for the design and asked questions of the Winterfell master-at-arms Rodrik Cassel about Braavosi swords.

She giggled at him. "It's so skinny." "So are you," Jon told her. "I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough." - Jon, AGoT

He'd had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo's blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life. - Jon, ADwD

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

After getting the idea of what kind of sword works for Arya's small hands, Jon then goes to Mikken, requesting that he make a small Bravo's blade. I feel certain that Mikken had no idea that he was secretly having a sword made for the Lord of Winterfell's daughter. I wonder what Mikken's thoughts were on Jon Snow wanting that specific blade made. He clearly did not think it important to mention to Ned. And no one knew - not Robb or Theon or even the Winterfell master-at-arms!

Given how sudden the whole deal was with Ned leaving for King's Landing, IMO, it's clear that Jon was planning on secret rendezvous with Arya where he could show her the basics of using a sword. Jon is certainly no Syrio Forel and Arya certainly learned more from an actual Bravo master fencer than from Jon Snow.

And yet just knowing that Jon had Needle secretly made and was planning on secret lessons for Arya because he knew just how desperate she was to learn something different, something unacceptable for Winterfell's daughter and that he did so at the great risk of displeasing a father he looked up to and the Lady Catelyn Stark who already wanted him gone.

He truly is Lyanna's son in every way that mattered.

#Jon Snow #Arya Stark #Needle #asoiaf

263 notes · View notes

novaursa · 1 day ago

Text

Legacy (bloodlines)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: golden roses

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The memory drifted back to you like a ghost, stirring from the recesses of your mind as you sat alone. The journey through memories was an ache you seldom indulged, but tonight, you found yourself slipping back to that long-ago time at Winterfell, when grief still clung to you like a heavy, suffocating cloak.

It was early morning when Lord Eddard Stark returned to Winterfell, bringing with him a bundle in his arms—an infant, quiet and blinking against the harsh northern light. Snow dusted lightly the ground, falling softly from the sky, blanketing the familiar courtyard you had come to know as your refuge. You’d been taken in as a ward, but you were still a stranger in these halls, a Targaryen displaced from the south, grieving the family you had lost and wrestling with the weight of exile.

You’d heard the sound of horses clopping, the quiet murmur of voices, and the muffled shouts of men and women gathered to witness the return of Winterfell’s lord. You’d stepped out into the cold, your breath visible in the frigid air, just as Eddard Stark dismounted, a small, swaddled bundle in his arms.

Lady Catelyn was already there, her face pale with shock, her gaze fixed on the child her husband held. You could see the strain in her stance, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her cloak, her eyes blazing with an anger she tried to keep in check.

“What… what is this, Ned?” Catelyn’s voice was taut, barely concealing the hurt that laced each word. “What have you brought home?”

Lord Stark looked at her, his expression steady, though there was a flicker of regret in his gaze. He glanced down at the child, who was silent, his small eyes wide and curious, wrapped tightly against the chill.

“This is Jon,” Eddard replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “He is my blood.”

Catelyn’s face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “Your blood?” she repeated, her voice tight. “You bring him here, to Winterfell, without a word? And expect me to… accept him?”

Eddard looked away, his face heavy with an unspoken sorrow. “This is the way it must be, Cat.”

But her eyes narrowed, her voice trembling. “And what of my own child? What of Robb?” She shook her head, her expression hardening. “I… I will not raise him as mine.”

You had lingered nearby, uncertain whether to approach or retreat, caught between your own mourning and the scene unfolding before you. But Eddard’s eyes found yours, something quiet and resolute in his gaze.

“Lady Y/N,” he said gently, his voice carrying across the cold air. “Will you come here?”

You took a tentative step forward, and then another, feeling the weight of his request settle heavily on your shoulders. When you reached him, he carefully extended the bundle toward you, his expression softening as he placed the infant in your arms.

“This is Jon,” he repeated, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and hope. “He will need someone to care for him, someone with kindness and strength. I believe he’ll find that in you.”

You looked down at the baby nestled in your arms, his small face framed by a tuft of dark hair, his eyes bright as they looked up at you with innocent curiosity. In that moment, something inside you softened, the grief that had clung to you easing just slightly. You’d lost so much, but here, in your arms, was someone new—a child who, like you, was displaced, cast into a world he did not yet understand.

Catelyn looked away, her expression unreadable, her shoulders rigid with hurt and anger. The strain between her and Eddard remained unspoken, a crack in the air between them, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned and walked away, her footsteps brisk, leaving the two of you standing alone in the courtyard.

Eddard watched her go, his face shadowed by a sadness he didn’t speak. After a moment, he turned back to you, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Winterfell is a place of family, of loyalty. I want Jon to know that, even if… even if some find it difficult to accept.”

You nodded, understanding the depth of his request. “He will know loyalty,” you promised, looking down at Jon’s small, peaceful face. “I’ll see to that.”

Lord Stark gave you a small, weary smile, his gaze filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. “I know you carry grief as well… but perhaps Jon will bring some light to you, as I hope he will to this family.”

You glanced down at the child in your arms, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest as he shifted, his tiny fingers reaching out, gripping the fabric of your cloak with surprising strength. In that moment, you felt the beginnings of something new—a connection, a purpose that anchored you to this strange, cold place.

You raised your gaze to Eddard, meeting his solemn expression with a soft smile. “I will look after him, Lord Stark. I promise.”

Eddard inclined his head, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Winterfell is his home now. And yours, if you’ll accept it.”

The memories wash over you anew, vivid and warm, pulling you deeper into a time when Winterfell had truly become your sanctuary. You remembered those early years, watching Jon grow from a tiny, curious infant into a spirited young boy with eyes that held wisdom beyond his years. In him, you saw a reflection of yourself—someone caught between worlds, shaped by loss yet untouched by bitterness.

You remembered the nights spent sitting by the fire, telling him stories of your family, of dragons, of Valyria. He’d listen with wide eyes, clutching your hand as though each tale held him spellbound. You would hold him close, feeling his small heart beat against you, a reminder that, though your family was gone, life continued. With Jon, you found healing, and in return, you gave him a mother’s love, fierce and unbreakable.

Then there were the other Stark children—children who grew to see you as family as well. Arya, with her boundless energy and mischievous spirit, often dragged you outside to chase her across the training yard. She’d laugh wildly, hair flying, challenging you to keep up, her small fists swinging as if already preparing to become the fighter she so longed to be. “Catch me, Auntie!” she’d shout, her voice ringing through the stone walls.

Then there was Sansa, delicate and careful, who would sit with you in the godswood, mimicking the embroidery you taught her, her tiny fingers fumbling with the needle but never giving up. “Is this right?” she’d ask, her blue eyes filled with wonder, watching your hands move in practiced, graceful patterns.

Robb, already showing signs of his father’s steady strength, would sit at your feet by the hearth, asking questions about the South, about knights and battles, his mind ever curious and eager. He’d watch over Jon protectively, even as a child, as though sensing the weight Jon carried.

And Jon himself, with his solemn gaze and his quiet determination. You’d watch as he grew older, learning to wield a wooden sword, determined to prove himself worthy. “I’ll protect Winterfell one day,” he’d say with a quiet conviction, as if he already knew his path, though uncertain where it would lead.

You’d loved them all, but Jon held a special place in your heart, a bond forged not only by duty but by the healing he’d unknowingly given you. He was your light, your purpose, and in those years at Winterfell, you found the family you’d thought forever lost.

Then, like lightning piercing through the warmth of memory, flashes began to break your reverie—a vision that felt both familiar and strange.

You saw Brandon Rivers—the Three-Eyed Raven. His face was calm, wise, as he looked at you, his pale skin half-shrouded by darkness, his eyes distant yet focused, as though he saw beyond what lay in front of him. He spoke to you warmly, his voice deep and resonant, echoing in a way that felt like it came from both near and far.

"Y/N," he said, his tone carrying a kindness that surprised you. “You have always walked a path between two worlds—one foot in the past, the other in the future. You belong to both the fire and the ice.”

You tried to respond, but words failed you as his image flickered, shifting between shadows and light. He stepped closer, the air around him tinged with an otherworldly power, his presence overwhelming. You felt a strange warmth spreading within you, a sense of understanding, of something connecting you not just to the past but to a future yet unwritten.

“Be wary, and be steadfast,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You have always held more strength than you realize, and it will be tested. But remember… love and loyalty are the true gifts that time cannot touch.”

His voice faded, and you felt the world around you shifting, as if pulled away from the vision like mist dissipating in the morning sun.

The memories vanished, leaving you seated alone in your chambers in the Red Keep. The familiar coldness of the stone walls crept back, and the echoes of laughter, the warmth of children’s voices, faded like an old song carried away by the wind.

You sat there in silence, the ache of longing filling your chest, as though Winterfell itself had drifted out of reach, leaving only the weight of duty and loss. But you took a steadying breath, reminded of Bran’s words, reminded of all that had made you strong.

As your hand rested on the arm of your chair, you whispered to the empty room, your voice soft, yet filled with resolve. “For them, I’ll endure. For Jon… for all of them.” And in that quiet promise, you felt the strength of Winterfell once more, a thread of warmth that even the coldest of stone walls could not steal.

The candlelight flickered gently on your desk as you carefully folded the letter, its edges crisp and neat. You’d taken time with every word, each stroke of ink on the parchment deliberate and filled with unspoken emotion. When you finished, you pressed the wax seal firmly, marking it with your insignia, knowing this small mark would carry your words across leagues of ocean to a distant land.

The letter was for her—your little sister, Daenerys. You don't even know her face, but the thought of her, alone and so far away, left a deep ache in your chest. This letter, filled with words of guidance, caution, and perhaps even a hint of hope, was the only way you could reach her from the walls of the Red Keep.

A soft knock broke the silence, and you straightened, composing yourself before calling out, “Enter.”

The door opened, and Barristan stepped inside, nodding respectfully before allowing Varys to enter. The Spider moved with his usual quiet grace, his robes sweeping the floor as he approached, his expression calm but curious.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth and polite. “You requested my assistance?”

You nodded, extending the sealed letter toward him. “Yes, Lord Varys. I need this delivered, but… discreetly. Your network is more than capable, I trust?”

Varys’s eyes glinted with interest as he took the letter, his fingers brushing over the wax seal as he inspected it. He seemed to understand the weight of the task without needing to open it, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “I assume this letter is intended for someone of great importance across the Narrow Sea?”

You met his gaze evenly, your voice steady. “Yes. It’s for my sister, Daenerys. I need her to receive this without any interference. There are… words she must read.”

Varys inclined his head, his expression thoughtful, though there was a faint smile playing on his lips. “A most delicate task, my lady, but one that is well within my means. Rest assured, the letter will reach its intended recipient without delay.”

You watched him carefully, noting the subtle curiosity in his gaze. Varys was not one to let opportunities for information slip by, yet he was also wise enough to know when not to pry too deeply. “I trust you understand the importance of this remaining… undisclosed,” you added, your tone firm. “Not even Tywin is to know.”

He gave a small nod, his voice soft yet reassuring. “Of course, my lady. My discretion is as much a part of my service as my knowledge. Your secrets are safe with me, as they have always been.”

You felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that Varys, for all his cunning, was a master at weaving delicate threads of information without breaking them. “Thank you, Varys. You’re doing a service that reaches beyond mere loyalty.”

He allowed himself a slight smile, bowing his head. “I consider it my duty to serve the realm in ways that many may not understand. And if this letter reaches a distant Targaryen across the sea, then perhaps… the realm will be the better for it.”

The hint of sentiment in his words surprised you, but you chose not to question it. Instead, you watched as he tucked the letter away in his robes, securing it with practiced care. He looked back at you, his face unreadable, though his voice held a quiet reverence.

“Your sister is fortunate, my lady. Few would extend such care from so far away.”

Your expression softened. “She is still my blood, Varys. She carries the legacy of our family, one that I fear she doesn’t fully understand. This letter… it’s a reminder that she is not alone, even if she believes herself to be.”

Varys nodded, his gaze turning contemplative. “The world is often less forgiving of those who carry a legacy. But sometimes, reminders like these are the very things that can sustain one through trials they cannot yet foresee.”

With a final nod, Varys inclined his head and took his leave, slipping through the door with the same quiet grace he had entered. Barristan, ever vigilant, offered you a respectful glance as he resumed his post outside, closing the door behind him.

Alone once more, you allowed yourself a deep breath, feeling the weight of the task settle over you. You had done what you could; now, it was up to fate, and to Varys’s many hidden connections. Somewhere across the sea, your words would find Daenerys, your sister, the last thread connecting you to the family you’d once known.

And though miles stretched between you, you hoped your words would serve as a reminder to her that the blood of dragons was never truly alone, that somewhere, family still held her close—even if only in spirit.

The dining hall was aglow with the warm light of many candles, casting a soft, golden hue over the long table adorned with lavishly prepared dishes. You sat beside Tywin, with a place set for you among the Lannisters and Tyrells—a “family dinner,” as Tywin had announced it, though the atmosphere in the room suggested anything but familial warmth.

To Tywin’s left sat Joffrey, who looked distinctly unimpressed, though his fiancée, Margaery, wore her usual gracious smile as she conversed with him. Across the table sat Cersei, her face set in a strained smile, her gaze occasionally flickering to you with barely concealed irritation. Next to her, Loras sat with his own quiet dignity, and beside him, Mace Tyrell was in high spirits, making conversation with Tyrion, who sat at the far end with a smirk that showed he was observing everything with keen amusement. Tommen and Myrcella, seated beside Tyrion, seemed enchanted by the occasion, their young faces lit up by the feast before them.

Myrcella, in particular, had drawn close to you throughout the evening, leaning over to engage you with shy questions about your family’s history and tales of dragonriders. Her soft, eager whispers reached you as she asked, “Lady Y/N, is it true you lived in the South when there were still… dragon eggs in the Red Keep?”

You gave her a warm smile, charmed by her interest. “Yes, Myrcella. There were indeed dragon eggs kept in the Red Keep, though they were said to have turned to stone. Still, they were a reminder of a time when dragons soared above Westeros.”

Her eyes sparkled with awe, and she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think… do you think dragons could ever return?”

You paused, giving her question the weight it deserved. “One never knows, dear,” you replied softly, your voice filled with the warmth of shared secrets. “Dragons are creatures of magic, and magic has a way of returning when least expected.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched her daughter’s rapt attention on you. She said nothing, but her displeasure was unmistakable, her posture stiffening with each whispered exchange.

Meanwhile, the conversation around the table had turned to the approaching wedding of Margaery and Joffrey, with Mace Tyrell boasting proudly about the preparations in place.

“It will be an event for the ages,” Mace declared grandly, beaming at his daughter. “Nothing but the finest for my Margaery and the king.”

Joffrey looked indifferent, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he glanced at Margaery. “I would hope so. A king deserves nothing less.”

Tyrion chuckled under his breath, though he concealed it quickly when Tywin shot him a warning look. “Indeed,” Tyrion added, raising his cup. “To Joffrey and Margaery. May their union bring prosperity to the realm.”

As the servant boy moved around the table, pouring wine into each cup, he approached you and reached to fill yours. But before he could pour, Tywin’s hand stopped him, his fingers resting firmly over the rim of your cup.

“She’ll have water,” Tywin said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tywin with a hint of playful mischief in your eyes. “Hardly fair, my lord. You drink the finest Arbor Red, and I am given only water?”

For a brief moment, Tywin’s eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement, though his expression remained stern. “Fairness is rarely a factor in what’s best for one’s well-being,” he replied, glancing at the servant. “And I, too, will take water tonight.”

The servant hesitated, but with a nod, he poured water into both your cup and Tywin’s. Across the table, Olenna Tyrell observed the exchange with keen interest, her lips quirking in a smile.

“Well,” Olenna said, her voice light with amusement, “it seems I’ve learned something new. The mighty Tywin Lannister drinks water when he dines with his Targaryen wife. Quite the show of solidarity.”

Tywin gave her a brief, cool look but allowed himself a rare, faint smirk. “It’s called leading by example, Lady Olenna. Something I’m sure you understand well.”

Olenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I do, Lord Tywin. But I daresay you’re indulging in more than a noble display of moderation.”

Cersei, clearly irritated by the exchange, looked pointedly at her father. “I wasn’t aware we were taking lessons in abstinence, Father,” she said with thinly veiled annoyance. “Especially at a family dinner meant to celebrate an impending wedding.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a slight tension in his jaw. “Moderation has its virtues, Cersei,” he replied. “And it does no harm to remind us all of them now and then.”

Loras exchanged a quick glance with Margaery, a slight smirk crossing his lips as he observed the dynamic unfolding across the table. Meanwhile, Joffrey watched the conversation with an expression of distaste, clearly disinterested in the subtleties of restraint and virtue.

Tommen, sensing the shift in the mood, turned to you and asked innocently, “Do you think dragons drank wine, Lady Y/N? Or just water?”

You laughed softly, meeting the young boy’s curious gaze. “Dragons,” you replied, “likely drank whatever they pleased, Tommen. They were free creatures, beholden to no one.”

Myrcella beamed at this, clearly delighted. “I like that idea. A creature as free as a dragon.” She glanced at you shyly. “You… you remind me of that, Lady Y/N.”

Your heart warmed at her words, and you smiled down at her, touched by her innocent admiration. “Thank you, Myrcella. That is a very kind comparison.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze darkened as she observed her daughter’s fascination with you. Her expression grew colder, her smile forced as she watched Myrcella lean closer to you, her eyes filled with warmth and admiration.

Olenna, watching the interaction between you and Myrcella with her sharp eyes, leaned over to Mace and whispered, though loud enough for most to hear, “It seems the young princess has taken to our Lady Y/N. How delightful to see that even dragons can charm the younger generation.”

Margaery smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Myrcella. “It’s refreshing to see Myrcella so captivated,” she commented, casting a subtle glance at Cersei. “A new bond forming, perhaps.”

Cersei’s face tightened, her eyes narrowing as she forced a smile. “Myrcella’s affections are… easily won, it seems.”

You felt Tywin’s hand rest over yours briefly, a rare gesture that conveyed his support, as he cast a steadying look toward his daughter. “Affection isn’t a weakness, Cersei,” he remarked coolly. “It’s the ties we build that keep us strong.”

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the echo of footsteps as Tyrion fell into stride beside his father, who walked with his usual measured pace, his gaze fixed ahead as he made his way toward the Tower of the Hand. The evening had been tense yet full of its own intrigue—a careful balancing act between allies and rivals. Tyrion, ever observant, had noted more than a few things that piqued his curiosity, and as they walked, he couldn’t resist finally voicing them.

“Father,” Tyrion began, his tone casual, though there was a glint of mischief in his eye. “I couldn’t help but notice certain… developments at dinner tonight. Ones I’m certain not everyone at the table grasped.”

Tywin’s gaze remained forward, his expression unreadable, but there was a slight tightening of his jaw. “Speak plainly, Tyrion,” he said curtly, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

Tyrion gave a small, knowing smile, keeping his pace alongside Tywin as they walked. “Well, as plain as I may, Father. I can only assume that Lady Y/N is with child.”

Tywin didn’t break his stride, though there was a slight pause, barely perceptible, in his gait. He did not look at Tyrion, nor did he respond immediately, the silence stretching between them.

Tyrion, undeterred, continued. “I gather as much from certain… subtle shifts in your behavior,” he explained, his tone still light but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “For instance, the incense at the wedding, your insistence that she avoid it, not to mention your particular refusal of wine tonight. And let’s not forget the look you cast the boy when he brought wine to Lady Y/N.” He paused, watching Tywin’s expression, though his father’s face remained stony. “All signs, shall we say, that point to a rather… hopeful condition.”

Tywin’s silence was absolute, his face an impassive mask that betrayed nothing, but the corners of his mouth tightened ever so slightly, a warning for Tyrion not to press too far.

Undeterred, Tyrion gave a short laugh, the sound echoing softly in the empty hall. “You don’t need to confirm anything, Father. I understand the value of discretion,” he remarked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “But should this news prove true, I must admit it is… quite the development.”

Tywin came to a stop, finally turning to face Tyrion. His expression was one of measured calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze that brooked no further questioning. “If there were such a development,” he replied in a low, controlled voice, “then it would be a matter of considerable importance. One that requires discretion—discretion I expect from you, Tyrion.”

Tyrion raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Father. My lips are sealed. I simply wished to express my… congratulations, should congratulations be in order.”

Tywin regarded him with an unyielding stare, his eyes hard as steel. “If Lady Y/N is indeed carrying my child,” he said slowly, his voice cold and purposeful, “then understand this, Tyrion—it will be the future of House Lannister. And I will not tolerate anything that jeopardizes that future.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened, a flicker of genuine respect in his expression. “As well you shouldn’t,” he replied quietly. “But, Father, surely even you must understand what this means. A child… a child of Lannister and Targaryen blood.”

Tywin’s face remained unyielding, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze, a glint of something unreadable that Tyrion caught but could not fully decipher. “If the child is born,” Tywin said, his tone colder than before, “they will be raised as a Lannister, and they will understand the weight of that name.”

Tyrion nodded, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. “I have no doubt, Father. But perhaps there’s more to a legacy than the weight of a name. A child of such lineage… there’s a power in that, a power that neither gold nor iron alone can command.”

Tywin’s gaze narrowed, his voice steely. “Power, Tyrion, is not something that comes from blood alone. It is something built, something earned. And if Lady Y/N does indeed bear my child, that child will be raised with the discipline and honor that befits the House of Lannister. Do not mistake sentiment for strength.”

Tyrion inclined his head slightly, conceding the point. “Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The silence between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words, as Tywin resumed his stride toward the Tower of the Hand, leaving Tyrion standing in the dimly lit hall. Tyrion watched his father go, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He understood the weight of what he’d uncovered tonight, and though Tywin’s silence had spoken volumes, it was enough.

A child, he mused, one who would carry the blood of two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. And in that child, he sensed a future that even Tywin Lannister could not fully control.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #got tywin #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #legacy

63 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 3 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

59 - Court of the North

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 17.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, distrustful and deceitful actions, possessive behavior and language, subspace tendencies, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: A breather from the last few heavy chapters, but also a slow burning plot in the background I hope you all enjoy! Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Of all things to make you nervous, this seemed as if it was the most simple one to surpass. It was easy in writing, and Jon was confident where you felt nothing but a racing heart to accompany the ragged nerves. Though, he had offered more then once to delay this for you sake. The eve before, Jon had been undoing the braids in your hair, which he had done in the morning, murmuring warm in your ear that if you were not comfortable yet, you did not need to do this.

Leaning back almost instinctively closer to his warm, gentle touch running through each strand of your hair you had withheld the urge to shake your head. “Most already know about it, the longer I hide away the more impatient they may feel.” Jon had not responded right away, sighing deep enough which you could feel dance across your skin closer to your ear. Before he could say a word, you had attempted to control the damage of what you had worried he thought you to imply. “I only mean, everyone has questions about near everything. While we even attempt getting things together, the least I could do is give them something to focus on.”

If you could have turned around to glance at Jons expression, you’d have seen his brows furrow down towards you as his jaw clenched. Attempting to seek out the right words, you both knew Jon was trying to not overwhelm you in multiple manners. Since the other night, you and him had been on much more equal terms in understanding of where your mind was and wasn’t at any given time. Jon particularly did not wish to let you wander too far into doubt or blame, should it lead to you spiralling away too far for him to coax you back again.

Mumbling both under his breath, and also loud enough to make his words known you Jon was certainly rasping through an unidentifiable frustration. “They have enough to focus on, without me throwing you into the centre of it. You’re only just starting to get better-” Attempting to placate that you were fine, Jon did not even acknowledge that you were still speaking. Continuing to talk right over you with more of a firm authority. “I don’t want you to be fine. Everytime you try and settle for being fine, you end up way too close to going right back to getting worse.”

It wasn’t a judgment, but for that brief moment the darkness of such a fog told you just what he was attempting to say the opposite of. That you not getting better faster, was being a burden.

If Jon could tell from the degree which your shoulders stiffened even under his gentle, massaging touch, he made not a motion of it. Your words were quiet, were he not right behind you, you may have not even been heard. “I am trying, Jon. I promise.”

The sigh was monumental for a man like him. Hands dropping from your hair to smooth down your upper arms, bare to the cold room as he had stripped you down to only a shift by the time he had brought you over to the cabinet to undo the braids across your head. Nudging the side of your head with his just enough that he could rest against you, eyes trailing down as much as they could to watch you. “This isn’t about that. We have a baby, darling. I only want to share you and our son with everyone enough so they can see the life we made together. But I won’t make you, you know that.”

Nodding almost to yourself, as Jon let one arm slink around your front to pull you back into him closer, your hands reached down to rest there. Pushing up the soft material against his forearms to trace along the skin you could find your thumb winding across his wrist to find his pulse, strong and steady underneath as it had been ever since it started once more. “I only-” Cutting yourself off with a sigh, Jon nudged the side of your head again almost in the same affectionately pestering way Ghost would to prompt you to continue. “I don’t want to disappoint any one. Let alone you.”

Murmuring in your ear with a low rasp which could’ve sent shivers flying up your spine as they vibrated against you, Jons tone was far more teasing then your serious one might have elicited. “Disappointed in what?” When you had no answer, Jon pulled you closer. His grin was felt against the hair he nudged his nose against playfully. “Let me show you off for one morning.” A gentle ask of only one, and Jon replaced any touch to the side of your head with a press of his lips. “Only one. I’m too possessive for anything more then that.”

Now though, as you stood more dressed and done up then you had been in well over half a year, your reflection told nothing but calmness. Your heart however, disagreed along with the dizzy feeling coursing through your veins and infecting your bloodstream. The nerves of last night nothing compared to it now. Jon though, looked as he always did, except for the ease in which on the other side of his chambers, did he have little Eddard in his arms.

Barley able to catch he was speaking, the low rasp whispered down to him was received either with muffled babbles of the babies own, or small giggles. A world in which could exist that Jon would not have anything close to this, felt as if it should be held accountable for such a high crime. As if he was born to be a father, no matter the outlook on the matter his entire previous life. In truth you had caught yourself stuck watching him as if you had never seen such a sight.

The way father and son would reach out to one another, causing Jon to smile and thus making the baby smile right back. Soon enough you could imagine both of them would taunt you with matching smiles to convince you of anything and everything. Turning in their spot, Jon shifted little Eddard in his arms to look him over to you as well, purposely whispering something in his ear which you could not heard from where you were.

A jesting tone coming about your voice with a mocking narrowing disapproval on your face, “Keeping secrets from me already, you two are.” Jons smile only widened in an unfairly handsome manner, causing you to turn away before the ruse of unamusement was revealed in a wanting grin. “No, no. Please, continue.”

Turning back you purposely did not look in the reflection of the mirror before you as the sound of Jons approaching figure came up behind you. Toying mindlessly with the laces at the waist of your dress as if to retighten them, you felt Jons warm come up to your back. One hand clearly busy holding Eddard firm against his upper torso, the other winding around to grasp at one of your hands and replacing it to toy with the laces himself. Rasping deeply and enticingly into your ear, “We could put this off.” His head dropping down to press a kiss to the skin below your ear, mumbling into it with hot breath. “Stay up here, let me enjoy you before going down there to show you off to everyone.”

Your hands swiftly grasped at his, knowing you could feel the grin coming over his face as yours fell with a playfully disapproving one as you pulled him away from undoing the front of your dress. “You are aware you’re holding our son.”

Jons response seldom helped with the light feeling in your stomach, only that time the nerves came off much more as light and floating then anxious. “And? There’s only one way to give him a baby sister-”

Just as his head dropped to your neck you pulled more forward trying to wrench yourself from his grasp, calling his name out with a laugh. Pulling one subsequently from him. Jon grasped the side of your head to press a kiss before turning you by your hip to face him. Your hands rested on his waist as he pulled you into his free side while adjusting how he stood so the baby could see you too. Glancing to the later, your voice dropped playfully as you leaned in as if whispering to him alone. “You’re starting to see why it didn’t take so long to make you?”

The little giggle from the baby as unknowing as always, responding almost only to the playful tone and grin painted too over your eyes that could so easily illicit something from him. Jon murmured still leaning more to catch your eyes, “It isn’t my fault I want you all hours of the day.” Running gently his nose along the bridge of yours, Jon nudged you a little as it to move you to the perfect position to capture your lips in his kiss.

One of your hands rose, wrapping around the back of his neck as the other pressed into his chest to lean up to meet him better. Softly guiding yours with something asking to go deeper, guided by using your grasp around his neck to his advantage. Leaning in as if to overpower you as he ever so briefly teased his tongue to toy with yours before returning to more of a chaste, long kiss.

Except, it was not only you two there, and a certain someone continued to prove they were as protective of you as his father. The sounds of a grumpy babbling protest came from Eddard as a tiny hand came up as if to tap at what he could reach of Jons shoulder. Once to catch his attention, and the other having Jon pull suddenly from your lips to turn and look down with a playfully incredulous look of offence. Without sparing a moment he leaned down more to him, “She was mine first. You have to share her.”

If an infant of barley over a week could say no, the unhappy fidgeting sounds coming from Eddard would have been just that. Leaving your hip to cup the back of his sons head, Jon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, muttering back that yes he does. You grabbed the hand of the baby’s which had hit at Jons attention, with a kiss of your own. Leaning in to meet his wide green eyes. “Go easy on him, he deserves a reward for having to put up with the both of us, does he not?”

Once again, he seemed to disagree as long as he was close enough whenever Jon would kiss you. Even from such an age, a protective little wolf he was already. Finally, Jon gently put him more comfortably into your arms, keeping the small bundle laying out more so he could hopefully feel more at ease seeing your face before bringing him out to the world.

Jons lips found your forehead that time before pressing his against it, a hand running through the hair behind your head soothingly. “There will be a lot of people wanting to see you and speak to us, if its too much-” Trying to gently protest saying you could handle talking to that many, Jon just smiled softly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes again better. “I’m saying, if you get tired at all, tell me. No one is going to take issue with a newborn mother needing to sit down for a little while. Don’t push yourself.”

As if it came out without a single thought, which it likely did, you knew the moment it slipped from your mouth you were in trouble later for it. “That doesn’t quite sound like what you were encouraging with me the other night.”

Jon though did not hesitate to turn you towards the door of his chambers before pulling you tightly gripped into his side. That time, his voice more akin to a growl as he muttered into your ear. “I moved you to the bed, because I wanted you to simply lay there and take it, darling. I’ll gladly do all the work when I’m that deep inside of you.” Such a mistake you had made, Jon was a man of promises. And he needed not vocalize a promise in order to ensure he would later act on it. He hadn’t wanted to push you, but finally you were slowly coming around more and more to wanting to be with him again without the anxieties of the dark fog surrounding it.

It was still there, but not so overpowering all day anymore at the least. Hopefully, it was kind enough to hold itself off from getting in the way of the mornings proceedings. And as you approached the corridors nearing the main hall, with Jon on one side of you, the approaching feeling on the other of Ghost almost acted as the final pillar of support. It had only been the three of you the night you brought little Eddard into the world, and it was when the four of you were together now did you all finally feel a little more put together, a pack a little more whole.

Jon promised he would do most of the initial talking, and for you to, as he specifically put it “To stand there and look beautiful as always.” Which luckily for you, beyond the initial scene of celebration, there was little pomp or theatrics involved like twice seen in Kings Landing. The North as always, was never quite as obnoxious about it’s royalty then those surrounding the Iron Throne.

The rest of the council proper respectively took their places amongst the Northern Lords, and beyond them the crowd of people both within the hall and outside its doors. Many from Winter Town and around to give congratulations and welcome backs to their King in the North. Keeping you with a hand at your lower back at all times as he spoke, Jon ensured you were close to him comfortably. You stood in front of the main table, and the only other ones by were on Jons side.

Bran in his new wheelchair which he had seemed rather happy with, no doubt feeling much more independent. Followed by Arya behind him, normally taking turns with Meera, currently in the crowd beside her father, to be the one to push Brans chair for most of the hard work. Arya had taken well to Bran being back, and despite her not having been near him since he had awoken without the use of his legs, she was happy to take turns with Meera to get him around. A small trio together, but for now it was only the two Starks up with you, as they watched their brother with pride.

Behind you on your side was your mother, a more difficult to read expression. Not that you blamed her. In some ways, children were a difficult topic for both of you, let alone sons. She had lost all of her boys before they were born, and she had once thought she lost her chance at having a grandson when learning of the night at the Twins. But here she watched you, finally with a son and with a feeling inside few would know how to read. But no doubt, it was nothing compared to the fight of calm and nerves shining across yours everytime you caught sight of the crowd before you, when not paying attention squarely on Jon or little Eddard in your arms.

There was only one Stark present, whom did not join up with the others of the family, but unlike Jon’s keen eyes, you had yet to notice the way she was watching you three through the morning.

Part of her felt bad for being so suspicious. Her eyes narrowed as she now stood off to the side, everything in her direct eyeline looked fine. But there still sat something in her head which refused to be quiet. It was as if everyone here had accepted the events which played out but never once gave thought to how it looked, let alone question what had truly been taking place leading to it.

It wasn’t as if in her mind, Sansa was going to accuse her older brother of holding you down and forcing you against your will. That would be a leap so grand even she knew was to a vastly unrealistic extreme. You had seemed willing from every way she watched it, but Sansa knew too well what role most women like herself and you had to play. Sometimes one may be able to pretend enough that their situation was fine, that they fell into it without anymore questions or care for the rest.

Almost too many times to count did Sansa meet women who played the dutiful wife in public, but you seemed to not quite grasp what she had been getting at the other night. As if you didn’t question what was going on or what this could be, should her darker suspicions be proven right.

Standing up by the front of the main hall, you had been standing next to Jon for some time as people all came forth to meet the newborn in your arms. When nothing else took his attention away, she could see Jon had a hand on your person as much as he could, sometimes pulling you more into his side if you drifted too much or whispering something to you alone to hear. It looked..well to Sansa, it looked like Jon was being extremely possessive. You didn’t seem to question any of it, as if to you, everything was fine.

But Sansa had yet to shake off that feeling as if something was not quite right about the situation between you and her bastard brother. The last she had ever heard of you before coming here was that you were dead. You, Robb, her mother, and yours and Robbs unborn son. The war was lost for you all, and won to the people of the capitol and it never ceased being a point of mocking pride to Joffery.

The memory of her final day in Kings Landing. The formal morning feast to celebrate Joffery and Margaery’s wedding day, Lord Tywin had gifted his grandson a Valyrian Steel sword. First using it to cut into pieces the grand book Tyrion had gifted his nephew, before waving it around to the crowd. Toying with it he had first joked that it would be like “Cutting off Ned Stark’s head,” everytime he used it. As gut churning as it had been to hear, it was followed up by him asking the crowd what to name it.

When Widow’s Wail had been chosen, Joffery had gleefully commented that it was as if he could hear your wailing and crying all the way here the night you, her brother and mother were all slaughtered. That it was a shame the baby never had a chance to be born before he too could “hear his mothers crying” before you died. It had made her angry the longer she had thought about it. None of them would have had a reason to know from the moment a blade entered your stomach, to your death, you had been drowning in your own blood to the degree you were incapable of making a sound.

She had never heard you come close to crying her entire life, but you had heard Sansa cry countless times, and been the one comforting her more often then even her mother did. That horrible day by the river, how Sansa knew she was letting Joffery treat the butchers boy terribly, and how she had yelled at Arya for it, when looking back on it, Sansa knew her sister hadn’t truly done anything wrong. But Sansa was too naive then, she didn’t really know what to do.

So when Cersei had told her to come before King Robert and tell him what she saw, Sansa had glanced to her father, taken back and confused by this display, then to you. Watching with narrowed eyes but the suspicion was directed towards neither sister. She had meekly said everything happened too fast, that she didn’t see anything. Arya had yelled at her over and over calling her a liar before hitting the back of her head and grabbing at her hair. Both sisters begun to struggle and yell at the other when their father had grabbed Arya yelling at her to stop it, you had detangled the girls grabbing at each other and pulled Sansa to the side shouting at both of them, “Enough.”

Later it was when Sansa had figured out that to spare the fate she knew was coming, Arya chased Nymeria off by force. As Cersei asked about it, you had shared a knowing look with Arya as you had quickly put it together when one of the guards had said, “We found no trace of the direwolf, your grace.”

But you had certainly known what was about to happen the moment Cersei stated, “We have another wolf.” The King had said so be it, and you had turned to him passing through the Starks with a hiss that he couldn’t mean it. He had only said, gesturing to the confused Sansa to get her a dog instead, that a direwolf was no pet.

Still Sansa could remember the horrible realization, how she tried to plead and shout, grabbing at her fathers arm and begging him not to let them do this. The way Arya didn’t hesitate to angrily look towards Cersei yelling at her that it wasn’t Ladys fault, to leave her alone. Sansa still could recall how she had turned to yell desperately to the Queen. “Please, please, it wasn’t Lady-” As soon as Cersei had started to give orders was when their father interrupted.

Feeling exactly as it happened, the moment her father had morosely told Jory “Take the girls to their rooms.” Did she break. The sobs desperate to come out instantly as Sansa realized what was about to happen, and how as if she had reverted back to a little girl had almost turned into you, and how without any hesitation did you let her fall into your embrace attempting to balance a seriousness and a comfort. Sansa years later had listened to Joffery mock in front of the people in Kings Landing that you probably had cried desperately before you died, and all she could feel was that night and how you ran a hand over her hair the more she tried not to burst into blatant tears.

Her father had told the Queen without any hesitation what Sansa had not been ready to hear for months. “The wolf is of the North. She deserves better then a butcher.” Before looking to you as you both shared a tiny nod of understanding did he leave the building. You gently waiting for Jory to take your place, before you nearly shoved passed the Lannister men around you all to follow.

She had not known it for a long time, but once Lady was gone, you had been the one to stay with her last for the proper final time. Cleaning the blood from her fur, and wrapping her up in a sheet with herbs tucked away as to not let the smell of eventual rot overtake. You had watched the four guards take Lady’s body back North until they no longer could be seen. Sansa had not been allowed to have one final time with Lady, and she didn’t know for a long time that you had taken that time in her place for her.

For a long time after that, Sansa would dream about Lady. They would be together in the warm sun, running together. When she would wake up, she would call out Lady’s name as if she would again see her direwolf’s golden eyes, but she never did. She would wake up, the dream would fade away, and Lady was dead again. Sansa suspected you understood that it never stopped hurting for her.

That evening at the table, she and Arya had been yelling at each other and when her sister had thrown part of an orange at her Sansa had let her emotions get the best of her. Shouting that she wished they had killed Arya instead of Lady, and never had Sansa forgotten the way you yelled at her. Only her name in a warning, but you had never yelled at her like that before, never given her that look before and she sat in a shocked, guilty silence over it. You had then covered up for her and Arya both when their father came in questioning the rooms tensity.

Sansa had tried returning to her food, sensing her father sitting something down beside her with a gentle, “That’s for you, love.” Opening the draw stings, you had begun pouring wine out for her father and settling into your seat finally. The doll inside was well made, the hair yellow and draped along the back of a white porcelain face. A dusty pink dress with a dark blue vest sat over top with gold trim around the edges of it matching the hair. Telling her with a hope in his voice, “The same doll maker makes all of Princess Myrcella’s toys.” As she looked at it in silence, he had asked, “Don’t you like it?”

She did. But in that moment, she hadn’t wanted to tell her father that. He was trying to reach out to her gently after what happened to Lady but she was too upset to listen. Not even looking at him she had snided out, “I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight. May I be excused?”

You had been far more stern about it then even Septa Mordane would’ve been, had she still been at the table. Barley glancing at her between the sip of wine passing your lips, “A thank you is traditionally the first appropriate response.”

Her father though, gave her a break, only telling her it was alright and to let her leave. Storming off, she had sensed your eyes following her retreating figure along with her father. Had she stuck round for a few seconds longer, she may have heard the amusement between you both as her father tilted his head in a slight exasperation. “War is easier then daughters.”

You had only laughed, jesting in reply “I’m inclined to believe my father would agree with you.”

Spending more time doing your duty by her fathers side, Sansa had almost never seen you in your time together in Kings Landing. Then you and her father were arrested. It felt like treason in and of itself, being forced to write to Robb, calling you and her father traitors. She had desperately hoped that Robb would not hate her for it. She had no choice, Cersei had told her it was essentially the only thing Sansa could do to try and help you and her father.

The night you had escaped, Sansa had recalled looking out the window with but a single candle to light. Preying that you would make it to Robb safely, and you did. Then Robb and you had declared war, then everything else followed and the deaths to come.

Sansa hadn’t even known she was to have a nephew until she was told of her families slaughter. You and Robb had died together, and your unborn son, from what all accounts said, was horrifically butchered and cut from your womb. The whispers had spoken that Roose Bolton had carved you open so deeply, that had the baby been fully grown inside of you, it would have spilled out amongst all of the blood and insides which came from you too. That was the last image she had when she’d try and think about what your final days looked like.

So, to stand there in the hall that morning, Sansa struggled to see the sight in front of her as anything but a trick. As if you were just being used for your position. She didn’t know anything close to if that was true, but perhaps it was easier to go down that train of thought for now then it was to accept the actual truth. Thus, she let it fester.

Looking around the room, she wondered who would she even be able to speak to who could give answers. Many of the Lords here all accepted the situation, and she did not know them well. So she turned her attention to those she already knew. Arya and Bran were not here for your time before marrying him, and she didn’t know most of the advisors by your and Jons side. But she did know Theon.

He had slunk off to the side of the room, likely to escape the crowed never ending in front of you and Jon. As she silently came to his side, she matched close to his posture allowing the quiet to brew between as he sensed she was there no doubt. You had been confused by her more direct questions the other night, so she this time, started as subtle as she could.

“When did they get married?”

Theon glanced to her in question, before turning back to where her gaze also kept on them as he thought back. Though, his expression was far more forgiving then her blank yet stern one. “If I’m not mistaken, they are actually drawing close to a full year to the day sooner or later.”

Quiet she was, as even more quiet as she kept her voice to herself and Theon alone with your name coming from her lips. “She reunited with Jon, and it took what? A half a year after that point for them to marry?” Theon affirmed only the timeline, not the unknown breakdown within her head, but no doubt was attempting to put it together the more she asked. “He was only crowned King in the North after about a month when they reunited. Then five months after that, he marries her. If being King meant that it didn’t matter a highborn marries a bastard, that timing seems odd.”

Theon had shrugged as he crossed his arms over his front. “With all due respect,” Nodding towards you, “If she hadn’t been so tormented in her head for so long, I think Jon may have married her the same bloody night they called him King.” Whatever meaning he had behind did not match Sansa’s. It only made her grow more suspicious.

Playing her cards a little too loosely, she took the risk to assess it outloud between them. “So, he rushes to marry her, and then as soon as they are he gets her pregnant right away.” To Theon, that was a very uncomplicated and general paraphrasing of the utmost disaster that was your developing relationship with Jon, but he had not found intent in dismantling her point just to over explain a relationship that wasn’t his.

Face twisting almost like a wince, he directed his gaze to the side to notice her watchful eyes yet unmoving. “Everyone kept still calling her Queen. May as well make it less complicated.” Sansa had not picked up on the fact that it was only a joke. His follow up though, only made her eyes narrow more at Jon. “As for getting her pregnant, I don’t think I should need explain that process to you by now. A man lays with the same woman enough times, eventually it will happen.”

In her mind, she struggled to rationalize it in a different way, no matter what her better logical side was insisting on. She found herself deep into something she knew deep down, was a rather harsh outlook. Jon had rushed into marrying you, and rushed into getting you pregnant and now here he stood. King in the North, with a son and heir with the once Queen in the North. Made officially so, when it was Robb you were at the side of. You had been married to Robb before made King and Queen and you both had lost the son unborn to you. Yet now, her bastard brother stood in Robbs place. His crown, lands, title and even his wife. Only Jon now gets the son which Robb never had a chance to have. Robb didn’t have an heir when he died, and yet it felt as if Jon rushed into ensuring you birthed him an heir.

With a son between you two, it would certainly make his position a lot harder now to denounce. In her worst reading, which Sansa was unable to send away from her mind, it was all rather unfavourable. Robb was a Stark, and when he was named King in the North you became his Queen already being his wife. You then both died before you had a chance to birth Robb a son and heir.

Then Jon, their bastard brother who laws Sansa grew up with stated he had no rights too, claims Robbs title as King in the North. Then to ensure his claim is strong, marries his brothers widow, the last Queen in the North and as soon as he can, puts a child in you. And here he stood with a son and heir to present to the Northern Lords. But as she looked around the room, it felt as if not a single person was seeing the deception which Sansa was.

Struggling to tell herself that this wasn’t a manipulative ploy to use you for your position, just for Jon to strengthen his own. It was as if no one was seeing this for what it could be, but her.

“I imagine it is too late to try and tell them that they did not have to bring gifts of any form?” Jon chuckled deep in his chest as he turned more into your side as a hand slipped to your opposite hip, turning you to match his position. Muttering under his breathe that it certainly seemed too late.

Thus far little Eddard had done well with the attention as long as you didn’t pass him off out of your or Jons arms. Both yourself and Jon spending much time ensuring either he or yourself were interacting with him in some fashion seemed to help. A small wave of a very tiny arm reaching out to him, and Jon without a hesitation allowed the baby to grab at what he could reach of his hand as a good enough way to hold hands together, bright wide eyes gazing down to bridge wide eyes, as his other ran along the top of his head. “If you don’t sleep well after today, I don’t know if you ever will.”

Nudging him slightly to grab his attention you jested, “At least so far he doesn’t take after you in that sense.” Both of you well aware that in addition to a lifetime of sleep troubles, Jon now then ever before struggled to get enough sleep moreso then he was willing to admit to you. You had begun wondering if he simply could function on four or five hours compared to most normal people needing perhaps double that amount. Newborns though, especially early born newborns according to Maester Wolkan would often sleep more then they were awake for some time. Though when his cries would wake you and Jon up in the very dead of night, it certainly didn’t feel that way. But neither approached it with frustration, there was little point between you to get upset about what could not be changed. Often the little one would allow you both to just begin falling back asleep before needing something else, only causing you both to laugh gently into one another at his needing timing.

“One can only hope he takes after you in other ways.”

Both your eyes and Jons tore up from the baby to the approaching figure. Jon was either doing a far worse job then you at feigning civil pleasantries, or was not even trying to hide his glare. You had perhaps a little more experience in playing that role with the man in question as you were the one to greet him in a half meaning greeting. “Lord Baelish.”

Giving an appropriate bow, he made a vauge gesture of asking further permission to approach. None of you made a scene in front of the crowd, or the few watchful eyes. Allowing him to come close as he continued on as if a conversation was being shared previous. “Even so young, it is lovely to see the little Prince with so much wolf in him, and a wonderful choice of name.”

You couldn’t quite pin why the way he said it made you uncomfortable, but perhaps it was bordering on a mocking that he thought neither you nor Jon would pick up on. The unspoken tension was saying otherwise. Jon had taken up the discussions mantle for you, with a short and unhidden tone of dislike which the man before you did not seem surprised nor perturbed by. As if he had already experienced this side of Jon well before right now. “If only his grandfather could be here to meet him.”

The tension between both was something you knew had already boiled beyond a safe point. Pulling the baby a little closer into your front as if to shift him away from the mans clear view, contrasting to the manner you attempted to placate anything furthering then this. “Forgive me, my lord. I am surprised to see you’re still here. Surely a man such as yourself has many matters to attend to in the Vale?”

He was at ease more dealing with you, Littlefinger switching his tone and gaze to something much better suited for what he always did best in playing to a specific crowd. “I have many matters all over to attend to, your grace. The Vale is simply one place as such, and I have many trusted men there to keep the peace for me while I’m gone.”

You had the sense, Jon had never seen the kind of smile on you before, which sat present on your face. One so unreaching of your eyes it was almost staggering how false it was. “You have never been this far North before, if I am not mistaken. I could only wonder as to what business then would keep you here now that you have safely delivered Sansa Stark home.”

The nonchalant mannerisms in his gestures as he spoke was merely a smokescreen of casual conversation. But the eyes watching both from Bran and Arya spoke even more suspect of him. All but interrupting their conversation with Meera to watch him close and untrusting. He did not acknowledge it, but you knew he was aware of it. “Let’s simply say, making up for past mistakes.”

Not a moment could pass to breathe before your false polite demeanour had nearly spoken back with a thick layer of condescension. “Winterfell should run out of candles before you find enough to light in forgiveness for that amount of errors, my lord.”

He did not react, not did your eyes blink watching him. The air was heavy before he found himself overstaying his welcome to the degree it could grow too noticeable. Looking between your son and you, he did not even make such a chance of including Jon in the formality. “I congratulate you both on the birth of your son. I believe I had once wished you a future of beautiful children, it is a shame it took this long to get you back from the summer heat, in order to finally achieve that.”

Littlefinger bowed before making his leave, and your watchful eyes as he retreated would tell Jon that more was being said between you both then either party had used in genuine words. You had told him that Littlefinger had once used his knowledge of your early time with Jon as a threat, but not what he said to do it. Nor that such a threat was now being used as a crude slash at your heart for what he felt that comfortable implying to your face, in front of all attending.

Jon didn’t however, need to say a word either for Ghost to catch what he was trying to tell him. And as Petyr Baelish made his leave from the main hall, as subtly behind did the sight of a large, white direwolf with watchful red eyes. Jon it seemed, had enough of letting the man walk about his home without eyes he could trust watching his every move.

And he knew you weren’t yet aware of it, but Jon couldn’t help but wonder how much the distrustful way Sansa was attempting to pretend she wasn’t watching him with, was influenced by the retreating figure Ghost now followed.

To some degree, she put more trust in Littlefinger then Jon, and he knew that acting with swift aggression towards the man would only alienate her more. Having Littlefinger in his home, around his family and his wife was one thing but Jon was not going to let him do so in any secret any longer. Afterall, Jon was more then aware that he and you had secrets between one another that a man like him would never conceive of guessing. And more then one at that.

As evening fell on the day, should those present have been aware, one watching one watching another should have been an amusing sight.

Yet none knew they were being watched, let alone followed save for the first of the chain. As night continued to fall quickly over the sky as the depths of winter grew closer, so did the beauty of the snow which was illuminated by the brightness of moonlight. On the clearest of nights, even the stars were visible shining along with it, but it was not quite so lucky this far north for such things. Not that you were put off by such a notion. You had grown up by the sea, always able to look up into the stars far into the distance as if they were falling into the water the further they travelled.

When you were very young, you had always wondered what the lands beyond your island home could have possibly looked like. Across the Narrow Sea you couldn’t imagine anything but what you knew, just a large span of islands stretching across water, each city their own plot of land separate from another and you could not imagine it could look as beautiful as the world you came to see, was.

The first time you left your home was not truly what you’d call a journey. Sailing young to Storm’s End and you had never came close to leaving the castle. Only from the front gates to the beach leading down to the waters you knew well. You had at such a young age always wished that your family had been allowed to live there. Storm’s End was large and sturdy, as if the largest of creatures could come crashing through it’s walls and every stone would stand in place without a shake. By the waters wind it was always beautiful and cool but the further inland one get it grew warm and even hot in the summers, but unlike Dragonstone, there was no volcano sat within the middle to smoke and smoulder to set the lands alight with the scent of brimstone.

The tomb of your family lay there, stretching back to it’s beginning. Not as long existing as many families in Westeros, but to your young mind it may as well been the beginning of time which they started. You had asked your father would one day you be buried with them here, or would one need to be made on Dragonstone. He had assured you, Baratheon’s belonged here with each other. You had spent many years wishing your King Uncle would have let you live here, all the things in the world you could’ve had.

But as you walked through the snow now, the light falling having given the previous footsteps a fresh dusting which you followed in near perfect succession, you knew that would have been for the worse. You had no resources on Dragonstone which were not thickly coated in a history of dragons, and few wished to travel there to live in order to provide you with education. You had no friends, not real ones at the least.

The other children anywhere near the castle were years older then you, and did not wish to stood low and play immature games with such a small girl nor did they want you tagging along and interrupting their own fun. The ones whom were your age were separated by the woods between the castle and villages on the other side of the island. You seldom had reason to be brought that far and thus when you did, you were treated far more as their Lords daughter then a girl wishing for friends.

The first time you had seen anything of the North, you felt such a strange feeling. It was large, such a large and vast stretch of land that kept going and going. By the time your ship had stopped in White Harbour already the people were so different. With each other they were loud and lively and yet also somehow felt as cold as the lands around you. You had felt as if each person was angry with you, but you did not understand what. Your father had told you that Lord Eddard Stark had two sons your age, but upon learning that they were in fact both at least two years older then you and much taller, you had felt the same worry. That you were now just in closer proximity to children whom did not want to waste their time on a childish little girl.

Sometimes they could be so cold and serious like the adults around you, that you worried that they would be annoyed with you when you weren’t as mature. You had wanted to go home, you wanted to have been able to live in Storm’s End so you never had to come here, you had one chance to make friends and for weeks you were scared they hated having to put up with you.

If such a thought wasn’t ironic enough now, you knew it was even moreso considering that you for those first weeks, thought Jon specifically hated you. He and Robb together could laugh and have fun no matter what they were doing, but whenever Jon had to interact with you, you felt like he waned to be anywhere else. Robb would be the one to come find you to get you to come with whatever he and Jon were doing, but it then would always feel like the later was trying to force you to grow up already so you weren’t as annoying to deal with. Always hovering over you like you were a burden he was forced to watch.

You had been on a ride through the wolfswood one afternoon, the lightest mood you had been in thus far just in awe of how far the North went on and on. Robb had to turn back at one point, telling his brother were he not back in half of an hour or so, to continue on without him. So you and Jon had stopped by a cliffside so you would all be somewhere recognizable for Robb to spot coming back.

A feeling of guilt had sat within you, being forced to watch you like you were an infant when clearly Jon would’ve preferred just going back with his brother. You had attempted to stay mostly on the other side of the flat clearing of land you two were on, shoving down most things you came up with to say in case he would finally snap, and tell you to shut up. You didn’t know when the thought came to you, but part of you wondered if you could see how far the woods went on for if you stood at the top of the cliffside.

There was no clear path up for some time by the sides, so you looked back. He wasn��t looking, and you didn’t want to annoy him by asking, so you quietly did it on your own. You had done this sort of thing all the time alone, so you had found it quite easy to climb up. By the time Jon had noticed you weren’t where he left you, he had but all yelled your name when he realized. But you were nearing the halfway point and it would take more effort to climb down from where you were then to keep going.

The sight almost was as fascinating as it was puzzling. The way not even this high up did the wolfswood seem to have an ending. It simply kept going and going. You didn’t realize with how long you had been looking out to the sight, that Jon had followed you up. When he had grabbed your arm saying your name, you for a moment were swept up in the sight before you that you had merely turned to him in excitement asking all of the wolfswood looked like this.

Face falling though, as he looked at you with those grey eyes speaking something you couldn’t understand, you had begun to apologize, that you’d never do it again. Jon had called your name twice as you attempted to promise you could get down on your own when he nearly shouted it. Wide eyes looking up at him in nerves though, did he smile. “Do you do this a lot on Dragonstone? Climbing?”

Confused at his sudden tone change, you nodded. Muttering as your head dropped with an honesty that you didn’t have any friends there so you explored the woods behind the castle and learned that you liked to climb. You recalled feeling taken aback when he had smiled more turning to stand more beside you to look to the same sight. “Well, I know you like to ride already. And now I know two things you like that we can do together.”

Sometimes it still felt after that like he was watching over you, but less and less did it seem as if he did it because he was obligated too but more because he was always on the lookout for things that you enjoyed or liked, so he could start doing them with you more often. You made friends with he and Robb both quickly, but Jon was your first true friend.

It was why now, everything you wanted as a girl felt backwards. Had you lived on Storm’s End, you’d never have had a single reason to be sent to Winterfell. You’d have never understood the beauty of the winters cold as you walked through thick trees coated in snow as you walked into the night of the godswood. And never would you have lived any life leading to the sight you had stumbled onto.

The Weirwood tall and even in the darkness, the red leaves stood out so vividly against all else. The white bark blending into the snow which too nearly hid the just as white figure of Ghost. The direwolf’s eyes as red as the leaves and directed towards the sight you were a fool for once attempting to live a life leading away from this. His original white fur around your shoulders, but his now were thick and dark, matching the colours of fine leather underneath and his long, black curls all once more pulled back entirely as his grey eyes shined bright in the moonlight still sitting between the clouds.

You could not hear him from there, but you could see the gentle way he held little Eddard in his arms, both facing the wonder of the Weirwood as if already sharing with his son, the beliefs which sat so strongly within him. For a good moment did you not even find it in you to disrupt the three of them. A trio of wolves all in a place encompassing so much of who and what they were that it felt a rare moment you considered yourself an outsider.

But it was striking, how in any point in your life you wanted things which would have certainly taken having any of this, far away from you. That this wasn’t a land you’d always yearn to return too, that twice you would kneel before a heart tree and offer your heart, life, and purpose to a wolf, a Stark, a man of the North and it was with him which you belonged. Both of them, but the sight before you was the one which all blood and death had led you and Jon towards and there was no longer use in pretending as if any of it was wrong. The only thing which was wrong, was the thought of ever thinking this place was not where you belonged. That you did not belong here, belong to him.

You had truly not even noticed Jon had caught sight of your appearance, watching the three of them with bright eyes shining with a ghost of a smile until he had affectionately called out to your name. “What are you doing back there?”

Noticing not the gentle smile already dancing across your lips you stepped forward more. “Admiring you three. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Coming close to the Weirwood, did the more eager sound of little Eddard cry out as two small arms shifted from under the blanket to reaching out. An even wider smile was to follow on you and Jon watching. A free arm reaching out to pull you close as you put your gloved hand in his. “Not interrupting means I can’t admire you.” Nearly close to a playful roll of your eyes was interrupted as he shifted his hand to cup your cheek. Tilting you up to more meet his gaze as he stepped as close into you as he could. Both of your hands reaching underneath the warmth of his fur cloak to rest at his waist, eyes fluttering closed the moment he continued to lean in closing the gap between your lips and his.

A gentle coax for you to simply let him guide you, you could feel the leather of his glove tracing over your cheek with his thumb. Jon barley deepening it, but not letting a single breath through your lungs pass without gifting it all to him. Each press of his lips almost tingling in your own as your hands clutched at him tighter before one drifted upwards. Tracing across the facial hair scratching under your palm at his jaw you almost pulled him closer to you, and you up to him.

Once, twice, again and again he moved his lips with yours but the second part of you or him shifted to deepen it did Jon tear from you. The kiss begging for more but instead tilting your head down to press a kiss firmly to your forehead and resting his own thus against it. The hand on your cheek now tracing along your hair loose down your back, raking through it gently enough by the back of your neck to keep you where he wanted. Your hands both now winding around the back of his neck as your lips begged you to lean up and kiss him once more. But he kept you in that position, until the needing tenseness in your shoulders relaxed for him. Only then his voice rasped so low and deep, vibrating in your ear. “I was telling our son that this was where we married.”

A gentle nod against him, not even unwilling to part from his warmth, but turning to rest your head more in the furs against his neck as you looked to where he still held little Eddard comfortably bundled in his arm. The press of Jons lips to the top of your head followed as you met the wide little green eyes looking up at you. One hand leaving Jon only to drift down to run along the side of the baby’s head as even just with the touch did his eyes begin to blink heavily. Murmuring against Jons front as the feeling of Ghost settling more by your feet join. “I’m almost shocked we didn’t already conceive you that night alone.”

His small ears not understanding a word of what that meant, but the feeling of Jon turning more to nuzzle the side of your head as he rasped for you alone, not even to reach the baby’s hearing as he cupped the back of your neck to keep you leaning up against him comfortably. “I was desperate to.” Only a hum left you to indicate you were listening, still letting a gloved hand run over little Eddard’s head as part of you considered in what felt like little time did you imagine he’d start growing out locks to match Jon perfectly, as he himself continued to murmur into your ear. “How many times did I take you that night? Six? Seven?”

A shiver ran right down your spine, warming your insides substantially as it begun to travel between your legs, the hand still around the back of your neck tightening ever so slightly. Yet not at all enough for Jon to miss, nor not catch the shaking tone of breathlessness which your voice spoke with. “I kept thinking about it..” A nudge against the side of your head when you faltered as if prompting you more commandingly to continue. “When you...when I was..”

The tone was rough but not even a smirk crossed his features, just a tightening of his hand by the back of your neck as his voice and accent flowed thick. “When I had you on top of me?” Only nodding as you almost nervously bit your tongue, Jon continued to contrast by a gentle nuzzle against your hair as if a wolf while again his hand tightened more. “Gods, I was so deep inside you that way.” That time the increasing tension in your blood had you lean more into Jons front as he found himself unable to stop rasping with a thick want in your ear. “You didn’t even know what to do.” Shaking your head no, you felt him breathe in deeply. “Just let me bounce you on my cock as much as I wanted.”

Once more you nodded, but that time Jon pulled your head from the furs hiding you in his neck to meet his eyes. Narrowed and a darkening grey with an expression any but you may have interpreted as angry, but his ramble came out almost instinctively. “You’ve always done that. Let me do anything I want to you.” Again you nodded, and that look tricking one of anger grew harsher as did he hold behind your neck. “I didn’t even ask to put a child inside of you. I did it because I wanted to, wanted to see you swell with my child. It’s like it doesn’t matter what it is I want, you’d let me do it to you no matter what it is.”

Letting the hand trace along his facial hair drop down to sit high on his upper torso, you inhaled long and deeply as you glanced down to what of Jon you could see, though the layers between you outside meaning you did not catch how hard you were making him, looking at him that way. There was an intention whenever Jon would tear his eyes down your body but knowing you were doing it in such a more innocently needing manner made him feel as if he was throbbing. Your voice but a whisper, letting your other hand drop from the growingly sleepy bundle Jon was still carefully holding to let it too join against his upper torso. “Because I trust you. With our son, me, anything.”

Jon only looked at you as the grey returned more to his eyes shining brightly before sighing out. Leaning down he captured your lips once more, a slow and chaste embrace pouring much of what he found himself unable to say into his kiss. A language you always knew how to read. Barley pulling back before he would reconnect, pressing multiple smaller kisses to your lips again ultimately failing each attempt to stop before you drifted your hands up. Cupping both sides of his face you indulged in a far more needing kiss, allowing him to go harsher as his teeth bite at your bottom lip.

Tearing away before he pushed it any further, he mumbled against your lips. “Do you know how I realized this one needs to go to sleep properly?” Tilting his head vaguely to where he held the baby you shook your head gently, only eliciting a breathy laugh to dance across your skin. “I’ve kissed you this much and he hasn’t fought me on it once.”

Your own laugh came so much easier, your forehead meeting his as he joined. Only pulling back from him enough to relieve him of his duty. “I can take him.” Gentle did he transfer him into your arms, never letting go until sure he was secure. Not in the way you as a girl feared, like he was making a fuss to ensure you did it right, but out of the sheer degree of protective within him. It was not yet often in the week of your return that little Eddard was found in one’s arms beyond you two.

Jon noticed you hadn’t responded to his comment truly, and now able to more freely, grasped the side of your cheek and jaw to tilt you to look up at him, his other running a thumb along and down the side of your neck. “How am I supposed to have you the way I want when my own son fights me for your attention?” Almost not bothering to let you answer, did Jon pass your lips by tilting your head enough to start pressing his lips down the sensitive length of your neck.

Knowing as you held the baby you were powerless to let him do so, your eyes fluttered in want to close as your voice breathed out high pitched as it was quiet. “He’s only protective. He doesn’t..” Swallowing the urge to let a whine bordering on a moan as you felt his tongue drag along your skin before once more covering up the trace with his lips, Jon stepped closer to you forcing him to lean down much more over your shorter stature to come with the same need. The hum in the back of his throat his only indication he expected you to keep speaking. “He doesn’t understand what any of this is yet..he-”

Tilting your head up to meet his now much more dark eyes as he dragged them down to your lips and back with a roughness scratching at his voice. “He’s lucky it’s cold out, or I’d have taken you right here as soon as he fell asleep.” Yanking you to meet, his kiss was so much more rough. Short lived but a deep harshness to it as he bit at your bottom lip tearing away, soothing with a single gentle kiss before running his nose along yours. “Let me get you two warm inside before I do anything else.”

Only a nod, you allowed Jon to turn you in place as he much more calmly called to Ghost. The direwolf getting up to start walking first as Jon pulled you into his side firmly, your head turning up to the side as he guided you away. “He’ll need to be fed before we sleep tonight, I assume.”

Jon left another firm kiss that time to the side of your head, his arm shifting upwards so he could grasp ahold of the white fur around your shoulders and strands of your hair which fell loose over it. His voice was steady and unphased, a striking opposite to the words slipping so easily from his deep voice. “I’ll long since have you bare by then, should make it easier.”

A shiver not from the cold winds ran back down your spine but he again looked unphased by his own words, despite the knowledge within Jons own head how painstakingly hard he had been since he first saw you appear like a vision sent to torment him by the gods. Dressed in his fur standing in the night snow of the Winterfell Godswood, you never made Jon more worked up then seeing you look so much like his, in his own home. It was possessive, but Jon was more then that he knew.

Jon knew he was little more then addicted to you, and looking down seeing you holding his son in your arms only had him pull you closer into his side. He adored you for so much more then your body, but for a man with few words, sometimes the rawness of lust he felt for you was his only way of expressing the degree of his love. Which made watching you simply interact with the baby something that made his cock howl at him to strip you bare and slip inside of you again and again.

Perhaps it was something only you two did and would ever understand, and for Jon he was perfectly fine with that. For the second pair of eyes watching someone else that night however, it was research. It was following what one told her to do despite how everyone else didn’t see a reason to care.

Your second night home, you had run into Sansa outside the crypts by the glass gardens and for everything you two spoke of that night, it was the whispering in her other ear during the daylight of Petyr which were speaking a different story. It was hard to keep up, her trust in you and her family on one and Petyr Baelish’s teachings on the other.

Was he feeding into her views to sully the already sour image he painted to her of her brother? She struggled to know that. She had watched you and seen something genuine, and even the way you both looked at each other was something Sansa had seldom seen adults share between each other. Certainly nowhere near anything she had ever come close to experiencing.

But then another part of her still sat in Petyr Baelish’s study, going over the details of what Alyane Stone’s life was. The lessons discussing how she will be perceived because she is posting as a bastard, and teaching her to not react in offence as if it would be the first she’s ever been treated as such. It was the words in her head which Petyr had so delicately taught her that festered in her mind like rot overtaking a bleeding wound.

“They will look down on you. You were raised with the love and worship of a highborn girl, but people will not gift you the same outlook anymore. People do not trust what is different from them, they will be suspicious and expect the worst of those who they do not trust. Everyone knows that bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit.

It had been hammered away in Alyane Stone’s mind to the degree which even standing there once again as Sansa Stark, did she follow Petyr’s advice. Watch him, keep an eye on Jon when he is with you. Petyr was sure he said that for Sansa to properly pursue what was rightfully hers, that she will need you on her side. You were twice Queen in the North and a born and raised proper highborn. So he told her, watch what Jon does. Watch him manipulate you, watch him seduce you into staying rooted by his side. That was what Petyr had said.

Following you to the godswood, Sansa had watched the way Jon interacted with you. It was a manner she had scarcely seen a man ever interact with a woman, let alone coming from her own brother. She could hear Petyrs words. Wanton by nature, born of lust and deceit. It certainly looked as such. Exactly what Petyr had said people would say about Alyane when she was to cozy to the side of Harry Hardyng.

Petyr had said that a wife of Harry would be he envy of every highborn maiden in the Vale, even a few reaching as far as the Riverlands or the Reach. That because bastards were lustful and lecherous, the more she earned Harry the Heir’s favour the more women would hiss that she had somehow bewitched him. At the time, she felt it laughable. Alyane was the opposite of that, Harry had been rude her once because she was a bastard and she had taken off embarrassed.

It wasn’t until he returned at the ball to dance with her did she forgive him. Alyane was a bastard she was used to it, but within her, Sansa was a highborn girl. She was nothing of the sort. But then she stood there, spying on her own brother. Spying on you, by law twice you were her sister and to Sansa you had felt as such far before. But she spied, and all she could see and hear was exactly what Petyr warned her of.

Even when you were holding the baby, Jon could not keep his hands nor lips off of you. No doubt whispering things in you ear to keep you seduced to his side. Jon was her brother, but he was a bastard and Sansa struggled to see past one to get to the other. Her worst ideas which she already had tossed away for such ridiculousness were far beyond inaccurate.

Jon needn’t hold you down and force himself on you. The part of him which was a bastard had pushed away what of his blood was a Stark, and it was that side that had lured you into his bed willingly. And even now, keeping you on the edge and control of his lust, as if should you drift too far the spell would break and you’d see clearly.

But Sansa was not the only one watching. Because as she watched you and her brother, Littlefinger watched her. And this was not a plan he had yet to lose. He had brought Sansa Stark home, but in truth, he had trained Alyane Stone so well that she still watched and thought through Sansa’s eyes. He had told her to be distrustful of Jon. Littlefinger more then most men knew exactly what desire looked like, and it lived within Jon Snow’s eyes each time they even slightly drifted towards you.

So he conjured a story to Sansa that you were a traumatized and confused widow, bewitched and seduced by the lecherous and wanton ways of a jealous bastard brother. If Littlefinger could manipulate Alyane so much that such lessons could trick Sansa now, perhaps he knew, she was not the only one he may be able to sway against Jons side.

Some plans though, did not always work the way one intends. An example provided so generously by the same evening, now within the warm walls of Jons chambers sat an amusing one.

Jon had gotten as far as peeling off the cold outer layers covering you both before little Eddard had decided enough was enough. The rapid switch from blinking awake with such a gentle and precious look on his face to fidgeting and grumpy was one which drew laughs from both you and Jon rather quickly. Changing the order of things, peace was found first between you all before anything further.

You had argued playfully with Jon about pretending to allow you modesty, when as he helped with the top layer of your dress, did he end up all but yanking the fabric away to allow your breasts bare. A fluster swimming up your chest and into your eyes as you had protested. Jon slowly letting a hand trail along your side to the skin just above your stomach where the tighter layer of the dress kept your skirt in place, pulling you back into him as his other grabbed at your hip. “If I sit you two by the fire this way, you’ll warm up faster.”

The sight now had been the in between. A little pack of four you were, Ghost half curled up on top of the fur before the fire, giving a cozy space for Jon to lean back against. Pulling you with him, Jon carefully lay you back against his chest enough that kept you comfortable but was also an angle safe for the baby to feed at. Jons arm was wrapped around your front, resting just under where you held at the baby, his other grasping tenderly at your waist against him. The skirt of your dress outstretched across half the fur as if taunting with what Jon had not gotten off in time.

But none of you were impatient for this part. Your eyes trained without faltering on little Eddard, as the thought came to you once more. The strange fact that some women chose not to feed their infants from their own breast, not out of necessity, but of choice. Of inconvenience. This was such a small, simple task shared between mother and son that you struggled to come up with any reason to willingly surpass this to another for your own sake. While Eddard was still so small and new to the world, feeding him of your own milk was the most natural way to bond you both together so quickly.

Muttering into your neck behind you, Jon felt almost as warm as the heat from the fire he had sat you all in front of. “He’s still on the small side.”

Your smile was gentle, still not having looked away from the baby. Your voice if possible was quieter then Jons merely muttering for your sake only, but knowing and trusting he’d always hear you. “Maester Wolkan says that he’s growing at an appropriate speed. By the time a full moon passes, he should be the size he is supposed to be. That some infants born at full term are still sometimes on the smaller side until they start walking.”

Adjusting his position, Jon leaned the side of his head against yours as his own eyes shined bright watching you both. An affection dripped from his words but lacked the rawness of need which motivated him as he had led you in here in the first place. “Of course he’s small, he came from you.” You didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking to the point it would break out into a grin as you smiled almost in audacity. Protesting that you didn’t stay that small forever, but Jon let the hand on your waist shift you indescribably closer into his chest with a breathy chuckle deep in his chest. “You’re still smaller then me.”

Now inside, you could feel the edges of Jons curls loose as they danced across the side of your head and brushed just at the edge of your cheek as you turned somewhat to lean into his touch. “Something you’ve never let me forget.”

Jon muttered in a passing tease of his own attempting to come off as dry and even. “I’ve never let Arya forget it either.” As if all he needed was to hear yours, the moment a gentle laugh left your lips did a much warmer one husk in your ear from Jon. Almost envious of the fire before you, knowing it was graced with the sight of the smile which always accompanied Jons laughter, a sight more handsome then you knew how to handle.

When he broached it, you had not at all expected his question. “What did Littlefinger mean this morning? When he said something about you and your children, what did he mean?”

As if on a sign hanging from his chest you could read the protective level of distrust radiating from Jon even here and now. Only you rested comfortably against him, shifting subtly the hand on your sons back down to cover his. Jon only raised yours off, placing it right back against the baby as he then covered your own hand with his larger one far more successfully. Some days neither of you were even aware of the smallest of gestures shared between you and Jon, it was merely things you did from each of your souls towards one another.

Your voice however, was not low to be quiet, but as if distant in memory desperate not to fall within it like a trapping vortex in the sea waters. “I told you he had tried to threaten me into being quiet, did I not?” Jon only nodded, no doubt his jaw as tense as you felt his muscles turning, but you continued with the opposite hoping it would soothe him. “I had turned on him. Saying to just tell me what it was he wanted to say in truth instead of trying to use you to scare me. And his response was...I don’t know, I didn’t think on it for a long while. He parted ways telling me he hoped I could return to Robb soon, wishing me a long life with many children. He said that I suited summer there far less then I suited snow.”

Barley a grunt let Jon, having no problem connecting the very mocking dots Littlefinger had toyed with you about. The tenseness still felt behind you as did his rasp strain more in a force to remain on the side of quiet. “You lost everything that night, and finally when you have the chance to share even a little bit of that with me, he mocks you for what you still lost.” The frustration on his face must have been so distinct were you facing him. It was almost as if he was convincing himself. “I told you, you belong to me. We belong together, I’m not giving you up to anyone ever again.”

Your laugh almost was enough to ease even just the tightness he held your waist with. “You and I have a son together. A man and wife can’t quite get more bonded together then sharing that.” Jon only watched you and little Eddard for a while again. Whatever was stewing in his head, he let stay there until it boiled to the proper point. Simply choosing to watch the mother of his child feeding his son from your breast, as if his was which the old gods had always been fating Jon towards.

The routine was without words. Getting his fill, you would then raise up Eddard to the opposite shoulder Jon was resting by as he pulled your hair off of that over to him. Almost without failure, the moment the tiniest burp would come from the little one, would he start to drift off. His head dropping down to your neck and shoulder as his eyes begun to drift closed.

Jon always took over from there once night came, the insistent claim that you did enough all day for the baby, the least he could do was not force you to jump up at any instance for him if he could bring him to you or back to bed. Each night thus far, Jon would shush you gently to stay in bed while he went and tended to Eddard, only ever bothering you if he needed feeding, to which he’d prop you up in the exact position you two had been in minutes ago, but upright in his bed.

That time barley managing to stand, you almost on instinct lifted up the loose fabric of your dress to cover your chest with a modesty as Jon carefully put the baby into his bed, up against the wall merely a few feet beside and down from where you both would rest. Neither of you had been anywhere near ready at the idea of giving the baby a room he would be alone in.

Whispering low words to his son as he drifted off, Jon pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before turning back to you, still standing at the fur in front of his fire but now holding your dress more up to hide you away. Jon however, only dropped his head with a smirking laugh as he approached. Raising his head up along with his eyebrows to you, grasping your hips within reach with something incredibly playful draping across his grey eyes. His voice low and rasping but filled with as much tease. “I think darling, you should know by now that I’m only going to peel the rest of this off far before you could properly put it back on.”

Jons hand almost childishly tugged at the skirt of your dress, but your hands did not drop. Your eyes did along with your tone in as much of a lecturing tease as he mocked you in playfulness. “Am I allowed to stay partially dressed as I take your things off from the day, or do you demand I do so with nothing else on?”

Jon only tugged at the material harder that time, not blinking nor shifting his expression at all while his eyes once more darkened. The yank was enough that it slipped from your grasp and exposed your breasts to him in a bounce. A small gasp left you, grabbing onto the skirt in front of you which he hadn’t pulled down enough yet, something bright in your eyes matched his but was painted over far more embarrassed. “Jon..”

Leaning in, he only nudged your nose with his. “Let me see you. All of you.”

His tug that time was more experimental, a question as he did one then another before finally moving his hands both to properly undo the laces keeping it against your person. Brows narrowed in focus as he kept his eyes trained on ensuring he took it all off of you respectfully. Sitting it aside from where you stood as he had knelt down by you. Looking up, Jons eyes were bright and asking of a permission you both knew he did not need to stop for.

But regardless he did, and the slight bite at your bottom lip with a nod was good enough for thus far. Pressing a kiss to your calf, up to your inner thigh, and trailing a path from your knee up to the warmth between your legs. Surpassing your core, Jon skipped up to your stomach. His lips refusing to miss a single scrap of skin which consisted of the scar across your womb before continuing his path up. Between your breasts but considerate of your sensitivity and pressing but a small kiss to what would be your cleavage before back up your neck. Rising up to his full height as he did so, his taller and stronger stature mixing with how he still was almost completely dressed, made your smaller bare frame feel exposed and vulnerable, a shaking exhale at how his lips against your neck only grew as purposeful as they were needing and sloppy.

Hands tighter and tighter at your waist, Jons breathing picked up with the high pitched breathlessness of yours. Rasping deeply, hardly able to convince himself to part from any way his hands and lips could touch you. “Are you still alright with this?” Your nod was lightheaded, but his voice calling your name was firm. Pulling you by a grip on your chin to look up to his stern expression. “You’re not still too sore? You don’t have to be ready so soon, it’s alright.”

Your own hands reaching up to flat against his chest you nodded along with a breathless voice which was tinged in the need your heart too raced with. “I’m not sore, I’m fine, I promise. Please..”

Leaning further into his front, Jon held you tight at your hips. Grey eyes on green until he found nothing but a complete truth in them, nodding down to himself with a mumble against your lips. Hand still pulling your chin up to his him, “Let’s get this off first.” Your nod was eager and his kiss too short lived, but he allowed you to work.

Bare in front of him, you took no rush in undressing Jon. Each layer taken off as the heat from him and the fire behind almost made you feel as if you could start to sweat, but never did you consider wanting anything else. Boots off and set aside, part of you always felt as if you should be unlacing his breeches in some kind of show when you took them off in such intimate moments, but you always just felt those nerves.

It never was anything but slowly pulling them down and kneeling in front of him with a hitch in your lungs, Jon had clearly been hard for some time. His cock full and thick, the colour deep as much blood was needed to harden a size and length such as his, but Jon only grabbed your hands. Pulling you up to your feet before cupping your cheeks.

Nose nudging against his, your hands wound up around the back of his neck, grasping at his curls before he nudged you to the right angle to kiss you. Rough and urgent as he held at the back of your neck to keep you there, soft lips guiding yours, deepening each second and growing rougher with that. You could feel his cock against your front but you dared not disobey him by doing what you wanted now, only being allowed his kiss so far.

Deepening his kiss each time as if to tease you with more until he chose the fairer path for you, licking at your lips instead of demanding you. Only gliding his tongue into your mouth once you had graced him permission, with your nerves hesitantly brushing your tongue with his. Jon though could guide your kiss with him for all of eternity, he knew just how much to give you, to explore and taste as he pleased before it became too much. Shying away as he ran the hand at your neck along your hair, back to rough and urgent but not such overpowering kisses.

But your arms wound around his shoulders and back of his neck even more, letting your hand entangle in his curls grasping with your own need to ground yourself against his touch making you dizzy. Leaning more over you, your back arching into his front, Jon let his hands run down your sides.

Hands smoothing along your waist and hip only for one to detour. Nibbling at your bottom lip, Jon only teased at letting his tongue brush against yours in your mouth at the same instance one rough hand slid along your ass. Grasping at one cheek, not tightly nor meanly but enough you cried a whining need into his kiss before his other hand joined. Large, calloused hands grasping and kneading at your ass as you held his hair tightly. Jons kiss growing more and more urgent, licking and deepening against you as he pushed your hips up against his cock, hands still grasping over and over at your ass.

Letting one hand overtake the other, Jon simply pushed your front to press up against his throbbing cock, fingers toying with pressing harder into the skin. Pulling from your lips with a force, the saliva not even snapping between you as you looked up to his hooded, black eyes with wider innocent ones. “Jon..are..did you want..”

Dragging his eyes all the way down your body and back, his jaw clenched as he once more grasped roughly what he could hold, which in his large hands was much. But he shook his head as he growled out, “No. Spread your legs, I need to taste you.” But as you asked about the bed, almost drifting towards it, Jon tugged you back with a feircly disapproving glare. “Now, darling.”

With a nervousness, Jon watched as you moved your legs apart better for him, only looking to watch your throat move with a swallow when he lowly ordered you to stand wider. Nudging your chin up to meet his eyes, Jon captured your lips in a chaste kiss before kneeling down. Resting his forehead against your mound, Jon groaned. “Seven hells..it’s not fair, I can’t go this long without..”

Cutting himself off, Jon pushed your inner thighs as far as he could from there before moving his mouth onto you. Tongue brushing up along your clit, he gripped your hips from moving but your hand tugged at his hair in need, a growl vibrating again you. Sparing you little time, from one pattern to another Jon lapped at your clit in one moment almost like a kitten in teasing, to the next his tongue fat against it before sucking at the bundle of nerves with a growl. His hands on your hips were tight enough bruises no doubt were forming.

His facial hair was thick, scratching at the skin of your inner thighs as he sucked and let his teeth scrape just against your slit before letting his tongue sloppily taste over it as it a salve to soothe you, but only bringing forth more pleasure. Twisting inside your core, you burned white hot with a beg of his name and your hand almost pulling at his curls. Your eyes closed, too overwhelmed and too shy to watch him but had you opened then, as you pulled at his hair Jons eyes snapped open. Never stopping tasting you as he glared up at your pleading figure in nothing but pleasure his mouth and tongue gifted you.

Eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, Jon grunted as he pulled you more into him, sucking harshly to the point your gasp was sharp. Hurling you to the edge, Jon sucked and licked at your clit as if not a single other thing mattered. Drawing closer and closer your hand didn’t even mean to pull at his hair but it did, and each time he grew more greedy.

Licking down to your core and back up to your clit, no longer staying in once place Jon finally allowed himself to dive deep into your cunt. The soaking taste nothing but a pure addiction to him, he refused to let you even slightly drift away. His tongue running along your walls as he drank from you with a terrifying need. A thirst which he refused to entertain a solution not found between your legs.

Closer and closer to the edge Jon drew you, his own grunting growls vibrating against you as the coil twisted at each brush of his tongue from your clit back inside of you as if feasting only for himself. Begging at his name, hotter and hotter did you burn before it burst. Only, it didn’t.

Tearing himself from your cunt, Jon rose up before you could even think to beg him to let you cum, Jon bit roughly at your lip, sliding his tongue inside to make you taste yourself against his tongue with fervour. Turning you by a grip at your hips to the bed, Jon tore from your lips again as the saliva snapped between you. Guiding you to lay flat against the fur for him, Jon pulled your legs both wide open as he kneeled in front of you on the bed.

His eyes were dark, an anger only you could see was truly need as he stared intently at your soaking cunt. Rasping deeply he dragged his eyes up to meet yours, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed the growling manner it hissed out. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me again.”

“Jon?”

Your gentle and meek tone ignored, Jon somehow yanking you wider for him as one hand pressed down against your sternum keeping you flat against the bed contrasted to your feet spread obscenely wide at his behest. “The next man who even thinks about you this way, I’ll kill him.” Something far gone was Jon, replacing with the feral teeth baring anger of a wolf before you. Unable to come down even when your hands reached up to try and run along his waist. “I should drag you out there right now, take you apart until you’re crying.” The hands on your thighs were nearing a painful tightness but you still found yourself begging for more. “Fill you until I’m spilling out of you, then cover you with whats left.”

Biting your lip, your chest heaved as you knew he was watching your walls clench around nothing, desperately soaking wet wishing he would come to you already, but the wolf was not one to ever be told what to do. “If the only thing I do for the rest of our lives is fuck you, no man will be happier then me. None of them have a clue what you’ve given me, none of them understand. You-”

Cutting himself off, Jons head dropped for only a moment before he shifted. Gripping the thick base of his cock, Jon used his other hand to grasp at your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, Jon did not finish what he was to say. Looking nowhere but your eyes with his pitch black ones as he slid roughly inside of you. He was not gentle the way he was he other night.

One hand holding you open for him, Jon begun to pound his cock with a roughness that his skin slapped against yours right away. Your head wanted to throw itself back, but couldn’t. Forced to look Jon in the eye, his hips only moved harder and faster. Sliding as deep as you could take him, and barley managing to slide halfway out before roughly pushing his cock back just as soakingly deep. Your hands barley reaching his waist to grasp at, your voice weak and nothing but a gentle, almost innocent plead. “Jon, please, kiss me?”

But he shook his head, breaking eye contact to drop down and watch himself. His cock sliding deep in and out of you, rougher and rougher he trusts got the more he watched. Letting your jaw go to hold at your thighs, forcing them back wide open and grunting as he pounded harder and harder. A screaming in your veins at the shock of pain followed by a humiliating sound of how wet you were. In and out, he found a rhythm, but he was so fast inside of you.

Your breasts almost on a lewd display each rough force, the sound deafening of his hips slapping into yours. Jons grip nearly had your lower half up on display, wide and unable to move unless at his control as he fucked you, over and over without a care for how it looked. Again his voice growled and not a man, but a wolf looked and spoke down at you. “You’re mine, darling. You always were.” Nearly dropping his head back down in a long groan, Jon lost some of his speed as he thrusted rougher and slower into you each time. Your insides burning, set alight and screaming for him as you were soaking wet around his cock. The wolf only continued on with a deep possessiveness. “From the moment I saw you across the yard, you belonged to me.”

A hand reaching up to almost caress the side of your face, your skin and hair now undeniably soaking in sweat as the coil within you twisted and burned so tightly you felt not sane within your own mind, only consumed with Jon as it truly under a curse or spell. It was innocent in contrast to the rough manner which his cock would thrust roughly inside of you, the sound of your wetness each time he slid deep as if to seduce him all on its own. But your voice was light and you tried to grasp at his waist and forearm with wide eyes, “Jon, please, gods..I love you..”

The man within Jon and the wolf were at war, his heart tearing inside his chest to lean down and kiss you, the other only grew more shamelessly possessive and Jon had not a clue where this terrifying intensity had even come from. “I know, darling. I know you do, fuck you were born to. You were born for me, my cock, all of it. I’ve always loved you, and I don’t want a single man out there thinking he’ll ever come close to the way I love you.”

Your head flew back, eyes struggling to stay open as your orgasm begged you to be let out but you refused to even consider asking Jon for it. You’d accept him never give you another if thats what he wanted, you didn’t care, you trusted however his cock wanted to use your body. Finally letting go of your legs, Jon leaned down. One hand shifting to grasp behind your head tightly in your hair.

Slap after slap, pound after pound did Jon sink so deeply, so roughly inside of you as he bit at your lips, his tongue making the same path as if to refuse parts of him to not be inside you. But he had one more thought, one which Jon had not wanted to jump into but it was the wolf sinking his cock in and out of you.

His other free hand slid between the furs and your ass, pulling away with a bite to your bottom lip Jon hissed your name. Eyes fluttering open, the moment your met his black ones did he slide one thick finger deep into your ass. Back arching up as you cried his name into the night, Jon met his cocks pace as let a finger, knuckle deep in your ass sink in and out just as greedily. Pleas of please and his name, Jons head dropped back to a kiss, forcing your head up to his with his only other hand to make sure you could not escape his kiss.

Hurling you closer and closer to your orgasm did you cry out, and as if he could match you perfectly, the moment your soaking walls clenched tightly around his cock did Jon growl your name into your lips. His kiss rough and biting and deep as your hands reached up to grasp at his back and shoulders.

Nails digging into his back, clawing down without even realizing as you so desperately needing something as his kiss refused to let you even moan out for him. The stinging sensation so striking in Jons blood he throbbed inside of you. Pounding once, twice, almost managing seven more incredibly cruel thrusts before he sunk deep as he could.

Your orgasm almost pulled Jon deeper as he came, his thick seed hot and spilling deep inside of you but his hips did not still. Almost thrusting incredibly shallow to ensure every single drop would stay inside you where his seed belonged. Pulling suddenly from your ass you cried out, but as your orgasm waved over you, you realized how lightheaded you felt.

Not yet coming down, Jon tore from your lips. His eyes suddenly wider as he looked down to you, a rasp more concerned on his voice as he prompted your name. But your hands wound into his hair reaching up to press your lips again to his, the feeling as if blackening your vision as Jons seed was so thick and hot inside of you, almost making your orgasm go on and on. Vaugely aware that Jon pulled from your kiss again, he ran his hand along your sweating hair, again murmuring your name in a gentle concern, but without much more knowing, did you feel yourself fade.

Hardly even coming down from your end, and Jons cock not even yet truly done spurting thick amounts of his seed inside of you, but you felt like he held you above the clouds. Just Jon, and a floating underneath you as you clutched at his warm self before slipping into the darkness.

It was strange, still drastically in need of coming down to the ground, but Jon had noticed you quickly slipping away before passing out before you had even stopped cumming so beautifully around his cock. Heart pounding and racing, he looked down at you while he propped himself up partially with one hand, his other running along your neck almost as if to ensure your pulse was fine.

But you were, only passed out as you both came together. No faster then that had sent the wolf within Jon away and brought the man back. Almost cradling you as he hovered over you, Jons breathing was heaving desperately. Both your bodies glistening with sweat and dampening your hair, but otherwise you seemed fine. Hands almost growing tight if he tried to pull away.

Unwilling to leave your still soaked, warm cunt, Jon turned you in his arms. Laying more on your sides, Jon pulled you close. That had never happened before, he had never seen you drift so far you passed out before either of you had even came together and finished once.

Laying there in the night, the fire crackling beside the bed as Jon stayed deep, and half hard inside of you, you tucked into his chest and Jons face tucked into your hair, his arms wrapped firmly around you, and nothing but the peace of your son together still slumbering behind you both.

He had not a clue what came over him that night, and still, part of it scared him. He had been so blatantly possessive of you in an unhinged manner, a feral sort of way. It was the side of him which had truly wanted to tie you to his bed and never again let you leave it, keep you spread open for him to fuck over and over at every perfect time, keep you here for him alone and refuse to share you ever again.

It was incredibly intense, and he had gone so much more rough then he knew he should’ve, but yet you seemed incredibly happy snuggling further into his front as you slept. Jon knew as he laid there, there were a few places such an intenseness could’ve come from, but one of those options scared him more then the other.

He was a Stark, the White Wolf, wolves were protective of their mates. Thats all this was, Jon told himself. Nothing else. He loved you with everything his soul and heart had, that much was true, but an obsession had taken over Jon that night inside of you, and Jon for the first real time lay there trying to fall asleep, cock still sunk deeply into your cunt. It was not the first time a Stark had ever asked himself that question, but it was the first time, Jon had ever asked the question about himself. The worrying wonder of just how much of his father did he inherit.

The question Jon fell asleep with repeating in his head, how much of Rhaegar Targaryean was actually running through his veins.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf imagine

72 notes · View notes