#so I made this sigil <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

swordgrace · 1 month

Text

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jon snow x female northern reader.

SYNOPSIS: you reunite with your beloved childhood friend, jon snow, at the edge of the world. the both of you have changed, but your feelings certainly haven’t.

note: season six jon, follows s6 ep4.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 10.5K (not sorry).

warnings: SMUT (mdni), ramsay bolton warning, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, reunion sex, description of scars, jon is definitely more of a switch, horny reader (valid), lots of groping, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, jon loves to munch, body worship, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, lotus position & missionary position, reader is on top and on bottom, light biting & tit sucking, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, but I’m glad because I had so much fun with his one! I’m a Jon girlie until the very end <3 I would honestly love to write more of him if you guys enjoy this! thank you so much for the love and support!

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

Direwolf sigils were replaced with that of flayed men, befitting for the screams that often emerged from the bowels of the Keep or the kennels, where enemies were fed to Ramsay Bolton’s pack of slavering hounds. Old faces that you had grown up with as a girl were gone — removed or slaughtered.

Your father, once loyal to House Stark and to Eddard himself, was strung-up and butchered for all to see, flayed alive by the Bolton men who now controlled Winterfell. You grew numb to the pain, numb to the shifting environment around you. It wasn’t the home that you had grown up in.

When you had caught sight of Sansa Stark in the courtyard, auburn tresses like searing embers against the backdrop of endless gray and snow, tears on her face, you knew that you needed to act.

You hadn’t known Sansa very well, but you did know her brother, Jon Snow. A beloved friend in your youth and teenage years, you had watched him go to the Night’s Watch. Any letters you’d written were likely thrown to the wayside, given the oaths that Men of the Watch swore, but you had longed to see him again.

Sansa recognized your face, no longer that of a young maiden with her head in the clouds. The both of you were women grown, trapped within Winterfell, and you wholly intended on escaping.

Fleeing Winterfell was perilous — dangerous, especially with the winter so biting and icy that it threatened to freeze away your extremities. Aided by Theon Greyjoy, once a captive of Ramsay, the three of you escaped into the harshness of the Northern woodlands.

Much of your time spent was in constant peril, with the looming threat of Bolton hounds nipping at your heels, search parties sent sprawling across the Wolfswood and beyond. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, distant scream of the wind made your steps quicken.

It was only when your lives were spared by Brienne of Tarth and her squire that you knew you were truly safe.

Castle Black had stood the testament of time, the last line of defense against whatever monsters lurked outside of The Wall. When its massive gates had opened, making way for your caravan, you felt shrewd in the presence of strangers. You hadn’t left Winterfell for much of your life, and only now, the world seemed so much larger.

When you saw Jon Snow again, more a man now than a boy you’d left behind in Winterfell, your heart nearly shriveled up within your chest. Youthfulness had left him, replaced with a permanent twinge of melancholy. A scar circled around his right eye, seemingly newer, and his mound of curled tresses remained tugged into a half-bun.

You stood in Brienne’s shadow, shuddering from the gnawing bite of the cold, feeling it slowly eat away at your bones. Sansa sobbed into her brother’s shoulder — and you couldn’t fault her for it. The viciousness she suffered at the hands of the Boltons was some of the worst cruelties one could imagine.

It was only when you caught Jon’s eye that he felt his breath hitch within his throat, and he felt like a young man again — freshly eight-and-ten, watching as he introduced you to Ghost for the first time. The sound of your curious laughter had filled the courtyard of Winterfell, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

You were from a distant dream, somewhere close yet far away, slipping in and out of his thoughts.

The last thing that you wanted was to detract from Sansa’s reunion with her brother, and so you kept quiet, bringing yourself into the shoddy shelter of your cloak. Your visage was icy, stung by the bitter wind of the far North, and your hands ached.

“You are safe here,” Jon murmured, brown hues glistening with appreciation as he looked upon Brienne of Tarth. “I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister. Whatever you need from Castle Black, you’ll have it.” He nodded, finding his gaze drifting towards you, begging for you to look his way.

Perhaps you didn’t recognize him, but that seemed far-fetched. Edd beckoned for Sansa to follow him at Jon’s command, hoping to find warmth in the guest chambers in the Lord Commander’s suite. The burden and duty no longer belonged to him.

Brienne bowed, hand atop the pommel of Oathkeeper, the Valyrian steel sheathed within its scabbard. “I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would keep her daughters safe — and I shall keep it.” She replied, cerulean hues flickering towards you. “Lady Sansa’s escape wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Jon gazed at you as if you had brought down the sun and stars themselves, moved mountains with will alone. Gods, he missed you terribly. His departure for the Night’s Watch had left a gaping hole in your heart, never to be filled, but seeing him again only seemed to make it ache with something painful.

Wordlessly, your feet carried you before logic could stop you in your tracks, and you flung yourself into Jon’s embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you. Brienne’s countenance glistened with the realization that you knew Jon, and she seemed to steer Podrick away, allowing the both of you some privacy.

“You’re alive,” You whispered into his shoulder, feeling hot tears trickle down your cheeks. Part of you worried that he might’ve perished, but here he stood, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a man. “It has been so long, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t been alive days ago — death had claimed him once before.

The scars that littered his body seemed to ache and throb with the mere thought of his own demise, and the anguish of betrayal that came with it. His dark brows furrowed together, visage one of gentle joy as he released you from his grasp. “You look older.” Older in the eyes — not in the face.

You were still just as beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen — your appearance hadn’t changed, and he hoped that your heart hadn’t, either. Your friendship kept him afloat for many years during his time in Winterfell, living as a Stark. You never cast your judgment upon him for being a bastard — and you never would.

“So do you,” Concern crept into your voice as you looked over his rugged beard and the scar upon his brow. “What happened to you, Jon?” There was so much he wished to tell you — from the Wildlings to the White Walkers, and his death. You could see it in his face — the maturity, the weight of duty, an abundance of stoicism.

“It’s a long story.” Jon huffed, Northern timbre crackled with a bout of faint amusement, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He gestured for you to follow him, striding across the courtyard of Castle Black in-search of his own quarters. He no longer held the Lord Commander’s chambers, and for good reason.

The men of Castle Black weren’t accustomed to seeing a woman — it evoked his streak of protectiveness when it came to you. He ensured that he kept close to your side during the lengthy trek to his chambers. Brienne was sworn to Sansa, and Jon knew that she would be well looked-after in the Lady’s stead.

Ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, Jon led you to his quarters. Smaller, but he preferred his solitude. His brothers had stabbed him, tore away his mantle of Lord-Commander, killed him — as soon as he could, he intended on leaving.

Pushing the door open, you were met with the gust of a raging hearth, warming your brittle bones as you rubbed your hands together, “Gods,” You whispered, immediately moving toward the crackling fire, extending your hands to the flames, eyes closing in satisfaction. “I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it.”

Jon’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled up a wooden stool for you to sit, and so did he, firmly planted at your side like a dutiful guardian. “You’re safe here. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” Dirt stained your visage, clothes tattered and worn from travel, hem shredded and covered in snow and mud.

Something forlorn reached his eyes, a distant glimmer of melancholy that you immediately recognized. He was still Jon, but something else seemed amiss. You lowered your hands into your lap, basking in the lick of the firelight. “All my life, I longed to see beyond Winterfell. Here I am — and here you are.” Your smile was threadbare.

The both of you had endured unimaginable hardships during your time apart, yet the warmth and fondness of your friendship remained, strong as ever. If Jon told you what all had happened, what he saw, what he went through — he wondered how much of it you would believe.

“Do you remember the night of the feast, when King Robert came to Winterfell?” Jon remembered — he remembered you, most of all. Gods, you looked so beautiful that night, bringing him a heaping plate of foodstuffs from the banquet, keeping him company throughout the night’s festivities.

“Of course,” It was one of the last days you had spent with Jon before he departed for the Night’s Watch. You had a plethora of regrets, and not kissing him that evening was one of them. The opportunity had dangled itself before you, and you never acted on it. “They sheared your face clean. A disservice to you, truly.”

A brief huff of laughter escaped him, lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s what you chose to remember?” He remarked, planting his forearms against his knees. Admittedly, he chose to remember you — the way your dress clung to you, the vibrancy of your smile, tenderness in your eyes.

Your nose wrinkled in amusement before you waved him aside, a smile stretched across your features — happier this time, full of warmth. “I remember more than just that, but yes. You weren’t so dour, then.”

Jon chuckled, effectively shattering his stoic mask as he looked at you, head canting to one side. “I still was, always sulking about in some corner,” He mused, peering toward the hearth. “The things I’ve seen — the things I’ve been through …” His jaw tightened, and the wound to his heart seemed to ache.

Empathy tugged at your countenance, one that dissipated from something lighthearted to seriousness. You reached out, resting a palm against his bicep. “What happened to you, Jon? You don’t seem the same.” You asked, glancing toward the scar on his face.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you about his death and resurrection — not yet, anyway. It was still too fresh a wound to speak of, left gaping and open, one that would take time to fully heal. “I went beyond The Wall.” Jon stated, as if that would answer all of your questions.

Silence drifted between you both, and you exhaled, brows creasing in contemplation as you looked toward the fire. You let your hands drift closer again, hoping to absorb any lick of heat that you could find. Jon stared at you, unbeknownst to you, studying the intricacies of your visage, the way your tresses framed your face.

Abandoning the rank of Lord-Commander had been a liberating thing. He was done fighting for men who had countered him at every turn, men who slaughtered him. He was unsure of his next course of action, but he wanted you there with him, regardless.

Hunger and famine gnawed at your stomach, chewing you up and spitting you out. Even Jon could hear the violent lurch of your stomach, see the exhaustion etched into your features. He didn’t want to keep you, but he didn’t want to leave you, either.

“You should clean up, join us for supper,” Jon prompted, melting away the tenuous silence. “I’ll see about finding you something proper to wear.” He wanted to continue to reminisce with you, but you deserved a moment of solace, a chance to bathe and warm yourself without his intrusion.

You nodded, offering Jon an amiable smile. “I want us to continue our conversation,” You insisted, your voice soft and tender, a silky resonance. Instead, you reached for his hand, finding the calloused, roughened plane of his palm. “I’ve missed you, Jon.” If he hadn’t realized it by now, then he might’ve been blind.

Jon’s breath hitched within his throat, reduced to a mere boy in your presence. Whatever he thought of at that moment, it was inappropriate — it transcended all bonds of propriety and proper friendship, yet he couldn’t help it. How long had he thought of you? Yearned for you, dreamed of you whenever he was laying on the cold earth somewhere beyond the Wall?

If it weren’t for his uncertainty, he would’ve kissed you then and there.

He never stopped to consider what your life was like now — perhaps you had a husband and a family, a life that had moved on from him, no longer frozen in the time of your youth. Jon always feared that being a bastard would’ve stopped you from courtship, but he knew now that you didn’t care. You never did.

Years of letting yourself toil over Jon Snow had amounted to this — to this unspoken affection that permeated the fringes of your friendship. In his absence, you hadn’t taken a husband, you hadn’t wed. Part of you thought you would become a spinster and live out your days caring for your ailing father.

Tension simmered, sparking to life in the wake of your intertwined hands. “I missed you, too.” His accent seemed deliciously thick, noticeably huskier with the rougher pitch of his tone. Those earthly-brown hues of his bored right into you.

Your stare became doe-like, able to feel his calloused digits, how strong his hands had become, careworn from holding a sword. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you let your hand recoil, placing it back into your lap. Your fingers curled tightly into your dress.

With a brief clearing of his throat, Jon decided to give you privacy. “I must speak with Sansa,” He murmured, standing up from his stool with an abruptness. His heart thumped madly within his chest, throat becoming thick as he gathered his bearings. “Come to supper when you’re finished.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jon.” You smiled, and he stepped out to give you your solace. His quarters were noticeably smaller yet homely, and you immediately decided to go to the washroom to clean yourself. Endless dirt and grime stained your flesh, making you feel worse than you already did.

As soon as you disrobed, sinking into the steaming-hot waters of the metal tub, you submerged your head beneath, coming up for a gasp of air. You glanced toward the hearth, scrubbing yourself down with a bristle brush and sponge, using the scarce amount of herbs and soap given to you.

You thought of Jon — thought of his hand, the firmness of it, the rough-hewn texture of his skin, the hardened muscle of his bicep beneath your grasp. You thought of the dismal, tempestuous storm of emotions raging war within his gaze when he spoke of being beyond The Wall.

It gave you much to dwell on as you scrubbed away the dirt from your skin, smoothing handfuls of hot water across your face. A simple Northerner’s dress and a furred cloak lay on the chair beside you, something suitable to wear that weren’t your tattered rags.

Sloshing around within the steaming water for a moment longer, you finished cleaning up, feeling the continuous gnaw of hunger strike at your stomach. The air was brusque and still bitter with a noticeable chill, the hearth continuing to roar in spite of being left with little attendance.

Tugging on the coarse, linen dress, you retrieved your boots, having thoroughly cleaned them off of hardened dirt. You let your hair dry by the fireside, swaddled in the cloak given to you by Jon. It swallowed you whole, yet it smelled like him — woodlands and scented smoke, the musk of a battle-hardened man.

By the time you joined the others for dinner, you felt cleaner than you had in some time, liberated from the weight of grime and hard travel. Exhaustion still clung to you like a shroud, but you assumed that a proper meal would make it easier to deal with.

Sansa greeted you with a thin smile, moving aside for you to sit next to her. There was never a fondness you shared between one another in your youth — you were always Jon’s friend, a girl who preferred mucking about in the outdoors and watching him fight with steel instead of any ladylike endeavors.

You had become quite proficient with an embroidery needle, and a dagger. They were one and the same for you at-times.

Jon’s silent admiration of you continued, hues fluttering over your form, now rid of soot and dirt. A warm plate of heaping food sat before you, helpings of potatoes, stewed vegetables, and roasted venison. You ate as if you hadn’t consumed a bite in years, the richness of it filling your belly.

“We are to take Winterfell back from the Boltons,” Sansa stated, her tone resolute and assured. “Do you think that there are still allies in Winterfell who might help our cause?” She inquired, her question directed towards you. You knew Winterfell — you’d been there this whole time.

“If Ramsay hasn’t flayed them all alive, then yes,” You murmured, thinking of your father’s corpse, strung-up on some wooden cross, muscle and flesh peeled away to reveal his bones. You shivered, masking your discomfort through a bite of vegetables. “There are still denizens inside who remember the Starks.”

Tormund Giantsbane, Jon’s ally and the leader of the Wildling forces, noisily bit into a haunch of meat, juices spraying across his ginger beard. Brienne’s discomfort and bewilderment was palpable as she turned away, blonde brows furrowing together.

“Could you find your way back in?” Tormund grunted, and you understood the insinuation of his proposal. If you were to rally those who still supported House Stark to Jon’s cause, staging a coup from the inside, it might assist his chances of taking the Keep.

“I suppose I could, but the Boltons rarely let anyone in or out, save for those bearing the Flayed Man sigil,” Jon seemed visibly apprehensive at Tormund’s suggestion, jaw tightening as he stuck his fork into a piece of meat. “It is dangerous now — one wrong move, and they string you up on the banisters, flay you for all to see.”

Tears glistened within your eyes at the harrowing memory of your father — you watched him be pinned to that post, screaming for mercy, men with knives cutting him apart as if he were a pig for slaughter. You hastily wiped them aside, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Jon’s gaze never wavered from you whenever you spoke — Sansa could see it, Edd could see it.

“That is the fate that befell my father.” With a sharp exhale, you continued to eat, momentarily meeting Jon’s sullen-eyed stare, full of sympathy for your loss. His condolences were unspoken, but he didn’t have to say the words to convey meaning.

“We will find another way,” Jon murmured, brows knitting together. “You’ve risked enough to save Sansa’s life. I won’t let you risk it again. Out of the question.” There was a finality to his words, wrought with a glaring overprotective nature.

Sansa remembered the day they left your father out to bleed in the courtyard — Ramsay’s sickening smile remained emblazoned in the back of her mind. She reached to squeeze your hand, and you nodded, the both of you returning to the food.

She plucked at hers, turning a piece of meat over along her fork. Edd stifled a brief chuckle through a mouthful of hard rations. “Sorry about the food, m’ladies. It’s not what we’re known for.” He stated.

“That’s alright. There are more important things.” Sansa smiled, but you were in the throes of consuming everything that you could. Foodstuffs had become scarce in Winterfell, especially to those who weren’t Boltons — just residents. You had to scrounge and work for every scrap — this meal was the best you had in ages.

A brother of the Watch entered the Great Hall, carrying a scroll of parchment for Jon, one that was marked by the wax seal of Ramsay Bolton. “For you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not the Lord Commander anymore.” Jon uttered, yet he took the scroll, anger seething within his eyes when he realized whose sigil held the parchment together. He unraveled it, jaw tightening as he began to read it aloud.

“To the traitorous bastard, Jon Snow, you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard — come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon …” Jon trailed off, breath quickening as he looked at Sansa.

Her countenance was one of shock and horror, tears welling within her eyes as she nodded for him to continue reading. The Hall was eerily silent, and you listened, brows furrowing together.

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor — come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you and your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will …” He stopped.

“Go on.” Sansa murmured, but Jon refused, rolling up the parchment with a despondent, rageful expression. He felt it blossom throughout his chest, the very same anger that consumed him when he sentenced his brothers to die.

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon quipped, preparing to tear it asunder, but Sansa reached over to take it from his hands, unraveling the parchment.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and your Northern bitch. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother — then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She read, a shudder within her voice.

You shivered, feeling a pang of disgust and fear rattle through you, goosebumps cascading along your spine. Ramsay knew of you — knew that you helped Sansa to escape, and knew of your affiliation with Jon Snow.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon grit out through clenched teeth, fists tightening around Ramsay’s missive. He would kill him for what he did — to Sansa, to you, to his brother. He swore it by whatever Gods were willing to listen.

“Roose Bolton is dead — Ramsay killed him. Now, he has our brother — he has Rickon.” Sansa’s voice trembled, but she remained stalwart, even if she knew what a monster Ramsay was. She used to think that Joffrey was the root of all evil — she was wrong.

“We don’t know that.” Jon protested, but Sansa stopped him.

“We do. He has five-thousand men, at least — I overheard him talking about it when he prepared for Stannis’s attack.” She replied, folding her arms together. You felt nothing but admiration for her — sorrow, perhaps, but you admired her strength in the midst of this.

“How many men do we have?” Jon looked to Tormund, desperate for answers, for a shred of something positive. They were lesser in numbers than the Boltons — they would need allies, and they would need them swiftly.

“Ones that can march and fight? Two-thousand.” Tormund replied. They had a Giant — that had to count for at least fifty men, if they were lucky.

“Jon,�� You spoke up at long last, finding your voice as you sat soundly at Sansa’s side. “You are the last true son of the Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, and they will fight for you if you ask it of them.” The gentle encouragement you offered gave him much to think about.

Sansa reached across the table, seizing Jon’s arm. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell, to save them both.” She pleaded, auburn brows furrowing together. It was the right course of action — it had been years since a Stark had truly sat in Winterfell.

Jon nodded, determination tempering his anger, and the desire for justice. He remembered wanting to ride North to help Robb’s cause, and he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did — if his brother might’ve survived. There was no time for inaction, not anymore.

“We will reconvene at first light, to discuss our next move.” He briefly squeezed Sansa’s hand before glancing at you. “You need to rest — both of you.” It wasn’t a request — more of a command, really. You and Sansa had been running from Winterfell for days before Brienne happened across you.

You took your leave, hoping to pray about your father alone before dusk settled in.

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

Brienne had taken Sansa back to her chambers for the evening, and you had gone to the ramparts after finishing your supper.

The death of your father was still an unsightly wound, something that had cut you right to the bone. He was your only family left — the last tether that you had, the last one to truly care for you. It left you with a gaping void of loneliness, one that had only felt healed in Jon’s presence.

Flickering torchlight danced along the wooden bridge that connected two sides of Castle Black, and despite the chill of the air, you remained outside. Rest eluded you, and you knew that you would be up all evening, tarrying around to try and occupy your mind.

Darkening skies twinkled with stars, partially obscured by large wisps of gray clouds, and with it, a light snowfall. The fur-lined cloak you wore kept you warm, shrouded from the gnawing chill as you listened to footsteps resonate from your left side.

The pale shadow of Ghost trotted alongside him, those crimson eyes glowering through the encroaching dusk. The last time you had seen Jon’s direwolf, he was the size of a small dog — now, he was massive, nearly coming up to your shoulder with the tips of his ears.

“What did you feed him?” You mused, kneeling down to greet Ghost as if he were an old friend. You recalled the day that Jon had brought the albino pup home, nothing more than a scraggly runt hidden in his cloak. Ghost nudged your hand, silently asking for a scratch along his ears.

Jon smiled, coming to stand near your side as he peered down into the silent courtyard of Castle Black. It was quiet, save for the occasional soldier scurrying across the dirt or the distant howl of the wind. “He’s much larger than I expected him to be,” He confessed. “Seems he remembers you.”

Ghost whined, ruby eyes studying you intensely, as if he recalled your last meeting. The pale direwolf allowed you to dote on him for a moment longer, padding off to lay outside of Jon’s chambers. You watched him go, a smile spreading across your face.

Your countenance softened at the sight of Jon, tousled curls still tugged into a loose half-bun, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you cold?” He questioned, noticing the way your form quivered beneath the cloak he’d given you.

“Quite,” A brief chuckle left you as you wring your hands together, letting them sink into the thick fur that you tugged tighter around you. “I don’t believe that I will be able to sleep tonight, given the circumstances.” You confessed, and he seemed empathetic.

“I don’t sleep much — not anymore.” The night that he had found himself resurrected from the black shroud of death, he did not sleep. Instead, he lay waiting for his brothers to burst through the door, knives drawn, waiting to send him to the cold, hard earth.

Jon slept with Longclaw at his side — he imagined that he’d never feel safe again without it by his hip.

A comfortable silence of understanding drifted between the both of you, and you felt him lean closer, brows furrowing together. “I am sorry about your father,” Jon murmured, knowing what it was like to lose his own. “I am sorry for what they did to him.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, yet you refused to let them fall, jaw tensing before you shook your head. “He is with the Gods now,” You whispered, mustering a threadbare smile despite the melancholy of your talks. “I hope that Ramsay Bolton is not shown any mercy.”

Jon hadn’t heard you speak like that before — so full of pain, an agony in your soft tone that he wished he could rip away from you, place the burden on his shoulders. “We will take back Winterfell — for my family, for yours, for the North. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Jon.” The two of you remained huddled close together, and you very nearly reached for his hands again, but decided against it. “You always have been, despite what insults you’ve been hurled. They are half the man that you are.”

He was a good man, despite what he thought of himself — an honorable man, the very best of them. His shining qualities were often diminished in the face of being a bastard, and you wished it weren’t so. Jon had long been ostracized for it, even if it was no fault of his own.

Jon hadn’t believed it, that he was truly good. He had done plenty of wrong — broke his vows to the Night’s Watch, killed many men, killed a boy, and for what? What good had come out of it all, other than being sent to an early grave for his actions?

You had always believed in him steadfastly, and he often felt undeserving of your praise. Nonetheless, Jon offered you a forlorn look, smile not reaching his eyes as he bowed his head. “I wish I could believe you.” Through a softly-spoken confession, he turned to face the cutting bite of the Northern winds.

As darkness hovered, the cold beginning to bite at his flesh, Jon gestured toward the doors to his chambers. “It’s getting cold,” Even he had his limits, hardiness tested by the harshness of winter. “Come on.” His hand hovered near the small of your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

The warm sanctuary of his chambers offered you a much-needed relief, hearth roaring beside his bed, lined in countless furs. The furnishings were scarce, and he placed Longclaw at his bedside, never very far from his grasp. An orange glow permeated all it touched, encompassing you in its gentle heat.

Ghost stayed outside, furs able to outlast the encroaching winter. He was the watcher tonight, ensuring that no strangers or brothers disturbed his friend.

You moved to sit against the large, rustic footlocker that sat at the end of his bed, closest to the hearth. The cloak you wore swallowed you whole, allowing you to descend right into the pile of furs, warming your icy flesh. Jon sat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance, one that many might’ve labeled as prudish.

Jon’s lack of subtlety became brazenly clear, dark hues shamelessly fluttering across your face, absorbing the finer details of your form. You had grown into your beauty, and even then, he was at your mercy — you were incomparable in his eyes.

The sting of embarrassment rippled through him, his behavior akin to a young man with an unrequited affection. His one experience with a Wildling woman had been in an effort to feel something, anything — a retaliation against the Night’s Watch.

You were different — you were his friend, a girl he’d known since childhood, now grown into the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. It was as if you reduced him to a mere pup without even trying, unbeknownst to you.

Jon carried a flagon of honeyed mead, the warm liquid churning about within its leather confines. It tasted stale, but it was better than he expected it to be, taking a brief swig. He hoped that it would quell his nerves, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“I’ve never been so far away from home before,” You sighed, breaking the comfortable silence with an amiable smile. “I used to always dream of going elsewhere, an adventure away from Winterfell. Now that I’ve gone, I want nothing more than to go back.”

“Has it changed much?” Jon inquired, voice dropping into a husky lull that made you shiver. His tone had become rugged, gruff — that familiar Northern timbre always filled you with a sense of comfort and ease. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in years.

“No,” Your visage grew forlorn, tinged with a peculiar sadness as your lips wavered into a half-frown. “Just those who command it.” The homely stone and Stark banners were all you knew for the longest time — and you hoped that it would be so again.

You wanted to cease dwelling on all things bleak and dreary, and instead, you smiled at Jon, countenance melding into one of genuineness. He caught your eye, features growing unbearably hot beneath the ardor of your gaze. Something passed between the both of you, something that caused you to look away; smitten.

Jon exhaled, taking a swig of the mead before offering it up to you. Liquor wasn’t something he necessarily enjoyed, but it did take some little edge off — for now, anyway. He watched with a faint smile as you took it, giving the cork a brief sniff, nose wrinkling.

Nevertheless, you took a drink, stinging liquid burning your throat on the way down. You sputtered, your expression one of clear distaste as you handed it back to him. “Gods, what is that supposed to be? The Night’s Watch isn’t known for their ale, either.” You huffed.

A huff of laughter tore past his lips, and at last, you could see the glint of his pearlescent teeth, a smile that could melt The Wall itself. “Still can’t handle your drink after all this time?” Jon remarked, corking the flagon of mead as he placed it aside. He didn’t want to drink himself into a stupor with you present.

“There were never any occasions that called for it,” You retorted, a warm playfulness permeating your tone. You leaned forward atop the footlocker, gazing into the flickering flames, its heat basking your visage. “Winterfell wasn’t the same after your family left. Everything seemed so dour, so hopeless.”

Jon hung his head, hands folded together as he contemplated your statement. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left.” He confessed, tone slipping into something silent, as if he were sharing his greatest sin with the septa. There were times where he missed home — missed what might’ve been.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you didn’t hesitate to look at him, hues swimming with a wet sheen. Reminiscing often brought about plenty of sentiments for you, sentiments that you thought you’d buried. “Sometimes I wish that you hadn’t left, either.” You whispered.

None of this felt real.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, a tension that had risen from the lingering flames of a longstanding friendship. Jon felt an unusual swell within his stomach, the onslaught of boyish nerves, yet he pushed them aside for the sake of the moment. It all seemed to feel so right, as if this had been long in the making.

Jon stared at you, absentmindedly tilting closer, enough to where you could feel the heat of his honey-tinged breath fan across your face. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t?” He murmured, hoping that you would confirm whatever it was that he felt, too.

“I am not sure,” Butterflies erupted within the pit of your stomach, hands beginning to reach for one another, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yourself. “I would like to think that I would’ve gained the courage to tell you how I truly felt about you.” There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety present — you knew what you meant, he knew what you meant.

I love you — it was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, to let his confession take wing into the open air. He should’ve told you that night of the feast, when you took his hand and told him that you would always defend his honor and his name.

“Jon.” Your voice was nothing more than a saccharine whisper, eyes wide and doe-like, a wordless plea to act on whatever it was he felt. Before you could say another word, Jon’s mouth was on yours, hot and rugged, everything that you imagined it would be.

His calloused hand rose to cup your face, rough pads of his digits tracing across your cheek, your jaw — you felt like velvet, an unblemished plane that had eagerly awaited his touch. Jon had always fantasized about kissing you, and the reality of it far exceeded any expectations he might’ve had.

The sudden intensity of the kiss had grown, as if throwing kindling onto an open flame. You weren’t prepared for it, but you needed more. A moan stirred within your throat as you pressed forward, hands reaching for the front of his leather-studded tunic.

Jon kissed you as if you were the air itself, every breath he drew consuming you, dragging you in until you were intertwined. He seized your waist, rough palm sinking into the coarse material of your dress, nearly shuddering at the feeling of your body beneath his palm.

“I love you,” He uttered against your mouth, forehead briefly bumping into yours as he held you close, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. “I never wish to be parted from you — from this day, until my last day.” Jon promised, voice rumbling and solemn, knowing that he would keep his vow.

Incredulously, you gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to escape the feeling of complete and utter joy you experienced at his confession. Breathless, you took a moment to compose yourself, gather your bearings before you smiled. “Don’t leave me again, Jon Snow.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jon murmured, eagerly seeking your mouth again, tugging you in for a heated kiss. Gods, your mouth was so disarmingly soft, pliant and plush against his lips, giving him everything that he ever imagined and so much more.

A gentle, uttered string of breathy ‘I love you’s’ left you over and over again, each kiss ripping the air from your lungs, leaving your heart hammering beneath your breast. You shrugged the cloak aside, letting it pool around you, partially strewn across the footlocker.

Desperation laced your kisses, as if something might threaten to rip you away from the excitement of the moment, or that you might wake up from a distant dream. Jon was lost in your mouth, a grunt blossoming from his chest when he hauled you closer, until no sliver of space remained.

He stood up, bringing you with him, standing atop the sprawling furs of slain stags, closer to the lick of the hearth. It allowed him to better hold you, hands respectfully roaming your body, never allowing himself to slip below your hips. “Wait.” He rasped, removing his mouth from yours.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, fearing that you had vastly overstepped. This was all somewhat unfamiliar, the territory new and unexpected. You had been with a man before, but it never crossed a certain threshold — you wouldn’t allow it.

“Is this what you want?” Jon questioned, dark brows knitting together as he regarded you with caution, a devotion reserved only for you. He couldn’t continue without hearing the certainty escape your mouth — he hadn’t done this in some time, himself.

Gods, you loved him. There was a lack of hesitation in his movements, but instead, a desire for clarity. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or trapped in some corner — he wanted you to want him. A twinkle of ardor glistened within your warm gaze as you brought your hands together at the nape of his neck.

It’s what you’ve wanted for such a long time — a terribly long time, at that. Everything felt as if you were wading through a dream, one that would shatter at any moment. “Yes,” You whispered, longing to unfasten the leather buckles and straps that held his tunic together. “More than anything.”

Jon’s breath hitched, a subtle noise, desire beginning to blossom throughout his chest. His grasp on you became innately protective and needy, hands gingerly kneading into your curves. He bent down for another kiss, arms caging themselves around you, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest.

Soft fingertips raked through his dark curls, bringing him to heel as he kissed you, unashamed of his clear desperation. It no longer felt like the ghost of a distant thought — this was a blissful reality. He helped you to remove the bulky leather of his jerkin, but part of him feared fully removing his clothes.

His scars would reveal the abhorrent truth — that he died, brought back to life from the twisted magic of a Fire Priestess. Jon’s hesitation was palpable, especially when your digits sank into the coarse material of his tunic. The leather fell to the wayside, and you were closer to seeing him disrobed.

Jon sluggishly reached for the linen ties that held your dress together, and you gave him a nod, subtly encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugged upon the tie, the fabric sagged upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, stepping out of it altogether.

A strangled gasp caught within the depths of his throat, manifesting as a sharp exhale that consumed his ribcage. You were every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined you to be — such fantasies had clung to the fringes of his mind out in the frozen wastelands beyond The Wall.

The plane of your flesh was velvetlike, bathed in the flickering firelight of the hearth, dancing across your body with its incandescent glow. Jon’s jaw visibly tightened, restraining himself from touching you as he pleased. The longer he stood, gawking at your body like some clueless boy, the more emboldened you became.

Careworn digits gingerly wrapped around his vambrace, unfastening the buckles there before you guided his hand to your chest. “There isn’t a need to be bashful,” You whispered, noticing the way his pupils dilated when his calloused palm embraced your pliant breast. “I want you to touch me.” You gently encouraged him.

Jon appeared a touch forlorn, attempting to mask his gnawing fear at the idea of you seeing him. “It’s not you,” His smile was humorless — pensive, even. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He huffed, hand drifting toward your hip, shuddering at the satiny texture of your skin.

Warmth crept across your spine in the wake of his breathless compliment, prompting you to unfasten his other vambrace. He aimed to distract you, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw met your neck, beard scratching ragged against your flesh.

He palmed your breast, reveling in the softness of you beneath his rough-hewn hand, tracing along your hip until he squeezed your derrière. Everything about you was plush and inviting, as if you were a goddess incarnate.

Jon’s kiss became hungry, wanton and passionate as his mouth peppered itself along your throat, from your jaw to jugular. He treated you kindly; gracious hands that melded themselves to your form, like a sculptor to his masterpiece.

Saccharine soaps and hints of underlying flora clung to your flesh like a springtime haze, powerful enough to melt this ice he felt. You brought with you such warmth that it threatened to swallow him whole; he delighted in it, letting you shake the frost from his bones.

Lips danced together with a long-repressed passion, now exploding like crackles of fire within a hearth, spontaneous yet heated. You kissed Jon as if he might slip away from you, turning into dust between your fingertips.

A low moan stirred within the depths of your throat when his fingers toyed with your pebbling nipple, prompting you to grip his tresses with an unexpected harshness. You mumbled a sheepish apology, yet he paid little mind to it, dusky hues swirling with an ardent adoration that made your stomach churn.

As your hand drifted to the hem of his worn, linen tunic, he very nearly stopped you — yet, part of him wished for you to see him without a spoken word. Jon’s chest tightened with quickened breaths as you kindly maneuvered the clothing away, and he watched, hues fixated upon your bewildered countenance.

A battlefield — innumerable scars, so fresh that you nearly held your hand over them to stop the bleeding, gouged across his pallid flesh. One that seemed to sting the most rest over his heart, curved and garish, the stroke of a vengeful knife that ended his life.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hand, fingertips tracing across his chest, feather-light and disarmingly gentle; the opposite of the knives that had left their mark. Your brows furrowed together, and you wondered how he could’ve survived something like this — if he survived something like this.

Jon shivered at your embrace, as sweet as the maiden’s grace, caressing him with your resplendent touch. He held you close, arm caging you in, his other hand stroking beneath your breast, above your ribcage. “I didn’t make it,” He rasped, noticing the glimmer of understanding in your eyes. “I’d like to think that the Gods wanted me to see you again.”

His smile warmed you, more than any blazing hearth could, more than that of summertime. A fluttering sensation spread throughout your chest, followed by a hitch in your throat that you stumbled over. “Jon,” You whispered, stroking across his chest with a peculiar tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

It wasn’t the time for condolences — such sentiments could wait. Jon didn’t want your coupling to be soured by what had happened, and instead, he shook his head. His yearning for you trumped that of any sorrow and mulling over death, prompting him to press his mouth against yours once more.

The kiss seemed to convey the unspoken message, his desire to tend to you before discussing the intricacies of his scars. Jon dutifully dipped down to kiss your throat again, and then your collarbone, guiding you towards the fur-laden expanse of his bed.

As you lowered yourself onto your back, Jon kicked his boots aside, crawling across the thick mound of pelts to cover your body with his. You sluggishly spread your legs, allowing him to reside in the space between, palms planted on either side of your head.

Each heated kiss blossomed across your flesh, as he peppered his lips along your shoulder and collarbone, descending toward the valley between your breasts. It was flesh he’d longed to grace, savoring every second spent; his mouth smoothed across the silken flesh beneath your breast.

“Jon,” A sigh of passion tore past your lips, gooseflesh coalescing along your spine as he continued his descent, knowing exactly what he sought. The heat between your thighs sang to him like a siren’s song, and you weren’t about to intercede. “Please, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

The ragged scruff of his beard scratched pleasantly against your skin, the sort of burn that left you aching for more. He kissed across your stomach, inch by agonizing inch, hand reaching back to caress along your calf. It was slow, exploratory — he wanted to learn every curve, every dip and expanse of flesh.

A hazy heat gripped your surroundings, as if everything had become feverish, touched by a fog of warmth that permeated you, sank into him. Doe-eyed hues flickered toward the taut muscle of his back, the blackness of his curly tresses, the scar around his eye.

Planting a kiss against your hip bone, Jon sighed into your thigh, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. His belly churned with an excitable heat, having waited for such a terribly long time to finally have you. He smoothed his calloused palm along your leg, ascending until he held your haunch.

Gods, you were in ruins — Jon hadn’t even placed his mouth upon you, and you writhed in anticipation. No man had been courageous enough to treat you this way, yet Jon lacked hesitation, settling onto his stomach as he bullied his way between your thighs.

Raking hot embers across your cunt, Jon lapped along your slit, eyelashes fluttering at the sound of your euphoric whimpering. He hadn’t heard a sound quite like that before, and from your lips, it was abhorrently sinful.

He sighed your name; reverent, a prayer only spoken between Gods and men — and you are no man. It made you shiver, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, soothed only by the sweet laps of your lover’s tongue.

Jon’s mind reeled with the sight of you — flushed with pleasure, visage contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss. He continued without pause, nose brushing across your mound as he buried his tongue into you, greedily lapping at your cunt as if he were a man starved.

Your heart hammered beneath your breast, that of sheer excitement, consuming you like a tidal wave as you brazenly reached for his tresses. Sinking your digits into the crown of his tousled curls, you tugged, showing your appreciation in an unorthodox manner.

“J—Jon!” A strangled moan tore past your mouth, wisps of air being ripped from your lungs. Jon was inherently greedy, consuming you in the way that you deserved, finding his solace between your thighs. His dutiful lapping continued, from the pearl of your cunt to your aching entrance.

Akin to ice against your skin, Jon’s palms glided along your thighs, moving to trace your hips. His mouth was like a wave of fire, beard searing the silky flesh of your legs as you involuntarily squeezed his head. You hadn’t intended to suffocate him, but it was a worthwhile demise, in his perspective.

One hand fisted the furs, digging in until you threatened to rip it apart, hips occasionally jerking and jolting forward into his mouth. He hadn’t tasted something as sweet as you, like a fine stout coating his tongue, leaving him intoxicating; craving more.

His eyes had nearly fluttered shut, half-lidded slits that occasionally flickered to catch a glimpse of your blissful countenance. Your back arched from the furs, seeking his mouth with reckless abandon as he lapped along your cunt, tongue briefly flicking over your clit.

It was as if you’d been struck by lightning, body bristling with a long-repressed pleasure, something that only he could cure. The sensation of his calloused skin against your plane of silk was a satisfying juxtaposition — he never wanted another’s touch again.

Jon burned for you in every way imaginable, a sonorous groan ripping through the depths of his throat as he moved to lap at your cunt again. His ministrations were slow, made to explore and to savor you instead of letting it all become rushed.

Your fingertips brushed across his scalp, untangling his curls from the half-bun he’d placed them into. They fell across his head, dark and somewhat cropped. He groaned at the sensation, feeling you pull and grip his tresses, guiding your hips closer.

Rough-hewn hands gingerly kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thighs, caressing their way up and down in a soothing manner. Jon savored your taste, letting your nectar find its purchase against his chin, glistening along his lips. He kissed your clit, evoking a breathy sigh from you.

It had been such a long time for the both of you, intensified by feelings of a long-seated desire and carnality, friendship transcending all bonds of propriety. Jon felt his cock twitch within his trousers, incessantly throbbing and straining against the thicker material, longing to be inside of you.

A cry of delight tore past your mouth as you involuntarily jolted forward, grinding yourself into his mouth. Jon treated you to a barrage of eager laps of his tongue, from your entrance to the sensitive pearl of your cunt.

Dragging his tongue in languid circles around your clit, he watched as you quivered and moaned, mouth agape, back arched off of the furs. Knowing what path to follow, he showed attention to your neglected pearl, nose buried into the softness of your mound.

“Jon,” You sputtered, thighs molding themselves to either side of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard rake itself against your silky skin. He listened, dutiful and with a burning desire to please you, continuing to lap at your clit. “Gods, don’t stop.” A trembling exhale left you.

It was then that he melded his lips around the aching bud, beginning to suck on your pearl with a pang of vigor. You shuddered, rattling like a leaf as you haplessly tugged on his mane of curls, hips tilting upwards into his mouth. You whined, fisting the furs at your side.

Jon did not relent, feeling the ironclad grip you assumed, knowing that he was bringing you close to your release. White-hot sparks fluttered across your vision, body singing his praises, collarbone glittering with the first inklings of perspiration.

A strangled gasp tore through your throat, followed by a myriad of moans and pleading whimpers, seeking friction against his mouth. Your release was fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat, flooding across your body with its intensity. Jon’s name emerged from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

The pinnacle of your release made you feel as if you were floating, legs shaking in the blissful aftermath, feeling Jon lap at your core a few times over. You exhaled, chest heaving from exertion as you loosened your hold upon his tresses.

“You’ll have to let me do that again.” Jon murmured, and that seemed to ensnare your attention. Seven Hells — you would let him do that for as long as he pleased, whenever he liked. He pressed a few soft kisses against the inside of your thigh, crawling up to be near you.

“Whenever you would like, I will never protest.” You mused, gaze sparkling with mirth and adoration, inviting him back to being on top of you. Though, your impulses had other plans, as your palm pressed against his shoulder. “There is something I wanted to try.”

The softness of your suggestion seemed to placate Jon, who felt you push his shoulder until you guided him onto his back, hooking a leg over his lap. Gods, he would’ve stayed like that for an eternity if you asked it of him. As you situated yourself on top of him, Jon sat up enough to reach you, kiss you if he wanted to.

He felt your fingers move towards the laces of his breeches, and he didn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitched, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” Jon’s confession emerged as a husky sigh, murmured against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. It came as a surprise, a wonderful one, and it only made your hands move in a borderline frenzy.

Freeing his cock from its confines, you moved yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your derrière. The flushed tip of his length nudged against your cunt, prompting you to sigh with passion.

“Jon,” A pleading moan tore past your mouth, mind becoming fuzzy as you attempted to absorb the genuineness of his words. The Northern timbre of his hoarse baritone made you tremble, hands steadying themselves upon his shoulders. “Please.”

In a sluggish descent, he gently lowered you onto his cock, the both of you shivering in-tandem. The low, throaty groan that escaped him made your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He was bigger than you imagined, filling you perfectly.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

Your cunt was tight around him, slick with arousal as you continued to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Jon’s heavy pants fluttered across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw.

Jon was captivated by you, inhaling a gust of your soap-laden scent, beard ragged against your soft skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. His hands were resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled his chambers with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your skin.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders.

A burning sting began to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you rode him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock speared you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly drew yourself out, and back down again.

“Gods,” You sighed, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry-red crescents against his pale skin, you didn’t want the feeling to end. “Jon, please — don’t stop!” With a simpering moan, your head began to roll back slightly.

Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Jon did not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guided you against his cock. The angle allowed for friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies tangled up within one another.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remained pleasantly buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He held you steady, greedily kissing at your pert breasts.

One of your hands fisted into his dark curls, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppered warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he let you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.

Shameless strings of sinful noises left you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Jon groaned with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxed you down towards the furs, not wanting to place you there unless you consented.

With a brief bob of your head, you found yourself beneath Jon, his musculature covering you, content between your legs as he hitched one around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm wrapped around your calf, causing you to shiver at the foreign contact.

He could look upon your face, see the way your visage contorted into pure pleasure when he rocked forward, cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin was flushed, expression somewhat doe-eyed and awestruck, even if you were too lost to notice.

Your hands moved, one finding its purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace began to intensify. It was a chase, galloping after his release as he bent to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you rolled your hips forward.

The wooden frame of his bed began to creak, groaning in protest from the vigor of his ministrations. You didn’t care if he was a touch rougher with you — Gods, you needed him. Heat swirled within your stomach, gnawing at your bones, making your toes curl in delight.

“Jon!” You cried, and that nearly sent him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost made his resolve shatter into two. He lost count of how many times his cock sank into you — it was all blurring together.

The inevitable rush of euphoria reached him when his release came, hot and blistering, making him see stars as he groaned your name. Your nails were digging into his bicep, a gasp emerging from your throat when he thrust into you again.

Ropes of warm spend painted your insides, and he very nearly collapsed on top of you. He had the decency to hold himself afloat, hand tracing along your calf and to the crook of your knee, letting you unhook your leg.

Jon removed himself from you, attempting to gather his breath as he laid at your side, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Your breathing was just as unsteady and erratic as you drifted down from your buzzing high, wiping beads of perspiration from your brow.

Once he recuperated, Jon looked at you, noticing the smile on your face, the unrestrained delight you were experiencing as you rolled over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured, watching as you began to shamelessly crawl into his arms.

“Quite the opposite,” You hummed, feeling him adjust the furs, drawing them both around you. Despite the feverish pitch of the room, the frost would settle in again soon, especially at the hour of the bat. “Were you jesting when you said you dreamed about this?”

Bewildered, Jon cast his eyes toward you, canting his head to one side. “Of course I was serious,” He huffed, surprised that you would think otherwise. “You were all I could think about, north of The Wall.” His confession was genuine, sweetly-spoken.

“You don’t have to dream about it anymore,” Your voice soothed him, a sound that he had yearned for with a blistering ache. He felt as if you would slip away from him if he let you go. “I won’t leave you.” Your smile was warm enough to melt even the hardiest of frost.

Jon’s lips tugged into a smile, one that you rarely saw beneath the brooding curtain of his visage. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, allowing you to get comfortable against him. The silence that followed allowed for some contemplation, absorbing all of what had transpired.

His scars seemed so fresh when they caught your eye. With a forlornly look, you dragged your fingers over the scar above his heart, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. Your body still felt as if it were caught in some haze, coming down from the blissful aftermath of your coupling.

“If you hadn’t come back …” You trailed off, attempting to refuse to think of some painful reality where Jon perished, but the thought briefly crossed your mind. If he had, none of this would be happening — he wouldn’t be holding you in his arms.

“But I am here,” Jon’s husky timbre shook you to your core as he planted his palm against your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you.” It was a promise — insistent, spoken from a man who now fully understood the weight of love, the weight of sacrifice.

You nodded, wordlessly reaching to hold his hand, feeling the arm he had caged around you plant itself against the small of your back. He drew circles there, brows knitting together as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard and warm, so real — he made sure that you understood exactly what he meant.

Within the warm embrace of his arms, you let your head recline against his chest, feeling him draw you closer, until there was no space left between the both of you. He listened to the steady, shallow sound of your breathing afterwards.

At the edge of the world, he had you — and that was all he would ever need.

#game of thrones #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x y/n #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones smut #game of thrones imagine #jon snow

834 notes · View notes

ts-witchy-archive · 11 months

Text

ADHD Witch Tips

We need more adhd witch tips so here, have these. These are the things I have learned and seen done over the past 3 and a bit years of practicing witchcraft. As always, if you have anything to add, please comment them and I'll add them to the list with credit to you and a link to your blog!

Make witchy playlists with intention. Music is the most accessible way of doing magic in my opinion, especially if you're using spells that already exist. You can listen to these while working, traveling or just doing things around the house. If you sing along then you're adding to the manifesting power of the playlist!

Use really large spell candles so that you don't have to make a new one everytime you want to do a spell. I used to have 1 really big protection spell candle that I would light daily. Not having to make a new candle every time made me so much more likely to practice

Learn to meditate. I know, I know, hear me out. This is less of a witch tip and more of a mental health thing. You can meditate while colouring in, listening to music, cleaning, going for a walk. You don't have to sit down with your legs crossed. Mediation is an important skill that none of us do regularly enough.

stop caring about aesthetics. Are they nice? yes! absolutely! but unless it makes you more likely to practice then it's not worth it. caring too much about how your craft looks can also lead to burn out.

Be aware of your energy levels. Burn out is a serious issue among the neurodivergent witch community. Rest and pacing yourself is just as important as actually practicing.

Audio books <3333333

Try to combine your hyperfixation and witchcraft practice. This could mean using sigils in fanart or dedicate your writing to a deity.

Use hearth craft as a way to motivate you to clean your home or to cook meals/eat.

Have affirmations on your phones home screen so whenever you unlock your phone you reminded of your intentions

2K notes · View notes

hells-wasabii · 6 months

Note

hello :33

Could i request a drabble with Alastor x reader who can break deals made by demons

He meets the reader, who comes into the hotel, and they make a deal that is totally bad on their end (like to let them touch his ears once and in return they will do his bidding forever and ever).

But then after getting Alastor to do his part, they break the deal, and Alastor and everyone else is dumbfounded. (he is equally pissed and intrigued)

I looooooove your writing and congratulations on 200 followers!! :3

A/N: Hey wait I know you! You were one of my first followers! Thanks for sending this in, it’s seriously a cool concept and was pretty fun to work on! I actually hadn’t planned on it being so long, but I hope you enjoy!

Character: Alastor

Type: Fic (Alastor x reader with a deal breaking ability, Fluff, Angst)

Alastor knew when he was being watched, he could practically feel your eyes on him from across the room. His smile turned tense as he narrowed his eyes at the little display that Niffty was attempting to show him. Though, she really couldn’t be bothered whether he was paying attention or not. Alastor couldn’t help but wonder: why was it you were staring at him so intently?

You were an enigma to Alastor. You were a guest of the hotel, and yet of you he knew next to nothing other than a name and a knack for mischief. As far as he could tell, you were ordinary. A specimen that did little to pique his interest. The radio demon turned his attention from Niffty’s insect display to look at you from the corner of his eyes. He watched with unease as you smiled knowingly at him, almost as if you knew something that he didn’t and he was the last to be left in the dark.

“I want to make a deal with you.”

Now that, that got his attention. The words had left your mouth so effortlessly. It was barely a whisper and yet it was enough to make his shadow move across the room to tower over you. If you noticed, you didn’t let it show. Perhaps that should have been his first sign that something was amiss.

In moments Alastor was mere inches away, a grin that couldn’t be described as anything else but plotting splitting his lips. “And what is it that I can do for you, my dear?” Behind him, his shadow waited impatiently, hungry for a meal, a soul. And Alastor planned to feed it.

“I want to touch your ears,” You said it with such confidence, so much so that it nearly took him aback. In fact, there was hardly a pause or even a moment of consideration. It sounded more like an impulse than anything else.

Surely he was hearing things. His… Ears? What kind of preposterous request is that? And to offer your soul for such a thing? Preposterous. Surely you had lost your mind before or since your arrival. But perhaps it was an even trade-off, considering his aversion to touch. Truly, he couldn’t see himself losing to a fool’s deal like this.

It was all standard, really. The matter was settled in a shake of the hand, markings and sigils appearing in the air and lining the walls around the both of you. And of course the rest of the Hotel’s residents, guests and staff alike came along to see what the fuss and light show was about. Alastor didn’t make deals every day after all? When had been the last time he had struck a deal for a soul? He could hardly remember as your hand left his.

“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?” As if you needed any more invitation than that. Stepping closer, you reached up. Had it not been for the fact that the radio demon had no choice but to hold up his end of the bargain, you were sure that getting this close would either reward you with a stern warning or the loss of a limb. Anyone else would have hesitated, but not you. Not when you had an ace up your sleeve the way you did.

The moment that your fingers brushed the appendages on the top of the radio demon’s head, your mouth opened into a fine ‘o’ shape. They were unbelievably soft. Usually, the pelt of a deer is coarse, the hair only smooth when you go with the grain, and prickly when against. But with Alastor, it felt more like fur than the usual coarse hair of a buck. Interesting.

The radio demon did his best to steel himself, unwilling to show any sort of reaction, especially with an audience present. His expression nearly fell as he realized that the rest of the Hotel’s residents were bearing witness to such an embarrassing situation. He made a note to attempt to save face later.

When it was finally over, his smile turned sinister. He relished the feeling of a new leash, a new bond, forming in the palm of his hand. The radio demon couldn’t help but love the way a new wave of power coursed through him He watched with glee as the chain began to form, link by link until it came to an end at the binding around your neck. But you merely smiled. This was his second clue that something was a miss.

He lifted his gaze to follow your hand, as you raised it up to grasp the glowing green bond. He watched as it strained, the shackle and the chain before it shattered in a manner that was not unlike glass. He could feel it, the broken bond. He could feel the power that had just coursed through his veins leave his body.

His lips twitched. His smile nearly fell, in fact, the overlord was certain that if it hadn’t been for the green stitches that appeared as he slipped into his demonic form, he was sure that he would have bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl. Instead, Alastor lost his composure. He reached out to grab ahold of you, but you were already two steps ahead and three out of range of the radio demon.

“What is the meaning of this.” The radio in Alastor’s voice crackled, a grating sound that nearly made you falter.

But you merely grinned, continuing to back away towards the others. “Deals are always meant to be broken.” With this, you turned on your heels and were out the door before more could be said.

You. You were exactly what he needed. But how could he possibly have you do anything in his favor without some sort of leverage or contract? It had been quite some time since someone had provoked his ire like this, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be bested like this. Not by a long shot. Alastor stood tall, dusting off his tattered coat, as if it had been sullied in some form or fashion as he watched you make your leave. It would seem that the radio demon had quite a bit of work to do.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin imagine #hazbin headcanons #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor

487 notes · View notes

inspiredrawaw · 19 days

Note

Hellll Yeha tell me more about your atelier au! Is Stan a brimhat? Or is he a good law abiding witch? What happened to ford?

I WOULD LOVE TO!! Also Same Hat with Witch Hat Atelier gravity falls au 🤝 Stan is not a brimhat! While he’s dabbled in forbidden spells and witch crimes he purposely wears a witch’s cap. This keeps him under the radar plus the Brimhats creep him out. He has never been a law abiding citizen! I don’t think it’s part of his vocabulary. and now onward to Stanford Pines!

After graduating and becoming a full witch he moved to Gravity Falls sets up his atelier there and looks into the magic of the small town. When he eventually came to a halt on his research he finds a cave painting of Bill just instead of the ritual to summon bill it’s the mind control sigil that at first just allows Bill into Fords mind and through some fun manipulation Bill convinces ford to inscribe a sigil on his witch cap that gives Bill full control. I drew out an idea of the mind control sigil, I took the memory wipe sigil from WHA with some creative liberties and added in the symbol for fire. During this time Ford becomes a full brimhat. This is after magic started becoming limited on who can practice it. Bill also convinced Ford to build a window/portal to where Bills been trapped. When he gets paranoid and contacts Stan he still tries to push Stan away leading into a fight causing Ford getting sucked into the window/portal. He gets trapped where Bill is trapped. The forest of mazes. It’s specifically built to keep dangerous people in like Bill Cipher. Hence why Fords never been able to escape. This also starts Stan’s development from regular human to full witch with the help from Fords journal and various books around his atelier. The journals play a very similar role. They are Fords research notes but as the journals progress and get more unhinged Ford also writes more on forbidden spells. When Stan finds out that Dipper has journal 3 he is really hesitant on giving it back to Dipper but trusts him and gives it back.

and some notes on this piece! ford was easier to come up with a design for because of how easier to it to change a trench coat into a witch’s robe. His current witch’s cap is made by Mabel :]. We also get to see younger Ford and Stan on the days they Fucked Up. I also started showing bits of Bill Ciphers abilities. Since the Brimhats are humans who used magic to become enhance their abilities and also the Big Bad Guy, and also also so far in my rereading of WHA there’s no mentions on demons or gods. So for Bill he’s just a Brimhat but a very charismatic Manipulative cult like brimhat

this is.. a lot of writing hope you enjoy my ramblings on my gravity falls au, Gravity Atelier AU. I like thinking and talking about this AU :]

#Gravity falls #my art #gravity falls au #gravity atelier au #witch hat atelier #fanart #Stanford pines #ford #ford pines #Art #bill cipher #triangle #brim hats #witch #ask #thanks for the ask!!!

214 notes · View notes

kitten4sannie · 7 months

Text

ᴡɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏʀɴꜱ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

pairing: demon lord! hongjoong x angel! reader (fem) feat. angel superior! seonghwa

genre: angel/demon au, smut

summary: you are sent to the fourth circle of hell to deliver a message to the demon lord that resides there. he has something to deliver to you in return.

w.c: 3.4k

warnings: sacrilegious vibes, dom! hongjoong, bratty sub! reader, praise/degradation, a lot of angel/demon stuff, voyeurism/exhibitionism, manhandling, brief choking, brief spit play, anal, unprotected doggy style, angel wings as an erogenous zone, creampie

a/n: so ik this is feb filth fest and filth is expected but this one right hereeee is just wrong on so many levels lol. also i do plan on making a sequel for this where joong and reader put angel hwa in his place ^^ but for now i hope you enjoy you sinners~ also be warned that the song rec is a tiny bit heavy hehe aside from it being from one of my fave bands i just felt like that song really fit the fic <3

Now Playing:

ᴅɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Deliver this to Lord Hongjoong,” your superior Seonghwa ordered, holding out a tightly-wrapped scroll inside his golden talons and dropping it into your open palms. “He’s in the fourth circle.”

“As you wish, Master Park.” Swallowing what felt like sand down your dry throat, you placed the scroll into your messenger bag and closed it, the corners of your lips twitching slightly.

“Nervous, are we?” The high-ranking angel folded his arms across his bare chest, your eyes focusing on the glowing sigils etched into his skin, a wave of jealousy blinding you for a split second.

“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” you replied hastily, your feathered wings lowering slightly.

Seonghwa tilted his head to the side, eyeing you up and down as though he already knew your thoughts and motivations. “Lord Hongjoong is captivated by greed, as you know. He’s fond of excess…self-indulgence…” He lowered one talon to run it along your jaw, making you wince. “He can be very tempting in that aspect. Will you be able to resist?”

Not knowing the answer yourself, you decided to respond to him with another question, “Is this some sort of test?”

He clutched your jaw on either side, lowering himself down so that he could study you closely with his piercing blue eyes. “If you want to move up, you’ll have to show me that you can resist the sins that the flesh yearns for.” One of his talons scraped down along your neck to your breast bone, lightly enough to make you shiver. “Can you do that for me, Miss Y/N?”

Feeling like you were already being tempted by your angelic superior, you did your best to force those conflicting emotions down, nodding your head as adamantly as you could and replying in a stern voice, “Yes, Master Park.”

He gave you a small smirk, before letting go of you and turning around, his large, extravagant wings folding inwards and concealing most of his elegant frame. “Good. Now go.”

࿏࿏࿏

By the time you had made your way past the third circle of hell and were finally entering the dark, hellish terrain of the fourth, you had felt a few waves of heat and pressure infiltrate your mind and body. It succeeded in making you feel heavier, as though you were underwater, forcing you to continue your journey on foot, rather than using your wings.

Gracefully stepping into the dark, bubbling pool of water that surrounded Lord Hongjoong’s domain, you rolled your eyes when a few small demons began to grab and scratch at your ankles. You huffed, feeling out of breath, but continued to wade through the abyss, a small smirk on your flushed face. “Pathetic.”

They continued their pursuit to frighten you, pulling and tugging at the wispy material hanging from your dress, making feeble attempts to drag you underneath. “You’re going to have to try harder than that,” you spat, holding up the damp folds of your skirt and wading through the deeper water, the large iron throne of the demon lord now in plain view.

Hongjoong sat with his legs spread open, one hand resting against his chin, his bare, tattoo-covered body on full display, a woven crown of spiraling black thorns sitting comfortably on the top of his head. His crimson eyes glowed against the darkness of the vast cavern, watching you struggling to reach him, his face remaining neutral.

You eventually made it to the deepest section of the water, the throne area sitting high above you, forcing you to angle your head upwards, the ends of your hair dipping into the black abyss below.

“What brings you here, angel?” the Demon Lord questioned, uttering the last word as though it were an insult, his commanding voice permeating all the way from his throne down to your pointed ears.

“I come with a message from Lord Park.”

He sat up from his relaxed position, leaning forward and resting his darkened, soot-covered hands in between his muscular thighs. “A message, hm? How trivial must it be if he couldn’t even bother to give it to me himself?”

“I don’t know. I just do as I’m told.” You swatted some of the smaller demons away from you, having to use more force when a few of the bigger ones began pulling at your hair and your thin clothes, threatening to strip you right then and there.

“Mm, of course you do.” Studying the way your dress clung desperately to your untarnished, glistening skin, he continued, his voice dripping with sin, “Why would he send such a delicious-looking follower to me all on her own with no one to protect her? It’s like you’re begging me to devour you.”

“I can protect myself, demon,” you growled, shoving another cackling creature away from you, unable to keep it from shredding the lower half of your dress with one quick swipe of its claws, exposing your thighs.

Hongjoong licked his lips, emitting a low chuckle, now finding your presence to be quite entertaining. “But you can’t seem to protect your precious garments. Weren’t they sewn by Lord Seonghwa himself? He won’t be very happy to see you in such an indecent state.”

“He’ll understand knowing I had to travel to such a filthy, unforgivable place,” you panted, about to continue describing how awful Hongjoong’s residence was when two of his demonic followers began tugging on both of your wings, causing you to let out an involuntary cry of pain mixed with pleasure. Meanwhile, another eager demon sent his claws down the front of your uniform, leaving it in ribbons.

“I do apologize for my pets. They always get excited when we have a guest, especially when it’s a pretty little angel.” Hongjoong couldn’t help but admire how vulnerable you were beginning to appear before him, taking great pleasure in the way you didn’t seem to give up, despite clearly being worn down.

“If I had permission from my Master, they would all be eradicated from my sight,” you threatened, forcefully ripping yourself free from the demons, a few of your feathers floating away into the dark water.

“You’re so frightening, little one. I almost let out a scream of terror,” he said flatly, rolling his eyes at you. Hongjoong tapped his sharpened nails against his knee, holding his other hand down in your direction, a demonic sigil etched into the palm of his hand. “Come on up here and deliver the message before I fall asleep out of boredom.”

Grumbling, you began pulling yourself out of the heavy water, grabbing onto the sharper edges of the rocky wall and slowly bringing yourself up to where he sat, your drenched wings threatening to send you back down into the clutches of the creatures that were whispering and snickering to each other below.

Once you stood before the Demon Lord, your chest heaving from how much energy you had to exert just to get to that point, you pulled the scroll from your bag and tossed it into his lap.

“Hope you weren’t too fond of your clothes,” Hongjoong mused, untying the scroll and scanning through it, while motioning to your dress with his free hand, just in time for it to begin peeling away from your dripping body and pooling around your feet.

Immediately filled with a sense of guilt and shame, you fell to your knees, hunching forward and covering your body to the best of your ability. “This only happened because your lecherous pets wouldn’t leave me be,” you hissed, glaring up at the Demon Lord that now stood above you, the mere sight of his cock hanging in between his legs making you feel faint. “Don’t you know that humiliating an angel is a capital offense? You could be–”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Hongjoong crouched down, running his fingers through your damp, tangled hair, his lips curling into a pompous smirk. “I can’t be punished for doing that to someone who’s no longer welcome inside the Kingdom of Heaven. You should really read these messages before you deliver them.”

The intense pressure you had been feeling for the past couple hours bubbled up to the surface, showing up as an unbridled rage that you didn’t even realize you were capable of expressing. “You dirty, filth-ridden pest! You think you can open your wicked mouth and spout some nonsense such as–”

Hongjoong grabbed you by the throat before you could finish, standing up and lifting you up in the process with one hand, his fingers squeezing around your delicate neck, using the other hand to show you what your Master had written on the scroll.

“No…” you mumbled, staring down at the scroll, almost unable to accept your fate. The message was clear: Lord Seonghwa wanted you to stay in the fourth circle where you supposedly belonged, as he was afraid of your inevitable betrayal.

How could he have known about your wishes when you never made them known to him? To anyone? You were so careful, so precise with your actions, so willing to do everything your Master asked of you, no matter how difficult. And this was the thanks you get? Banished to hell without a single goodbye?

“It’s not quite over yet, angel.” His blood red eyes bored into your half-closed ones, looking past them and gazing straight into your soul. “I can help you get your revenge. I may not like angels, but I loathe pretentious, high-ranking ones like Lord Seonghwa.” Hongjoong pulled you in closer, his hot breath hitting the bottom of your chin, a bit of drool escaping his plush lips. “Seduce him and take him down with you. That would give you immense pleasure, wouldn’t it? All you need to do is lend me your body.”

“You…you’re…a liar…” you choked out, grasping at his hand, your dripping wings beginning to tremble behind you. “Why…would you do that…for me?”

“It’s not for you,” he sneered, baring his sharpened canines, slowly lowering you back down to the ground, his fingers still clutching your neck. “I’m a lot of things, angel. Greedy, insatiable, consumed with desire, but…a liar is not one of them. I simply want to cause as much destruction as I can.”

Ignoring the angelic voices inside your head telling you to resist, you did the opposite, instead giving Hongjoong what he wanted. And what you wanted as well. “Very well…Lend me your power. I want as much as you can give me. My Master won’t go down easy.”

“So greedy.” Giving you a proud smile, the Demon Lord released your neck, the sigil on his hand now imprinted on your skin, though you couldn’t see it yourself. “I’ll give you everything you need, angel. But first, you must get on your hands and knees, and spread yourself open for me.”

Despite your instinct to spit in Hongjoong’s face and curse him, your profound need for power and revenge far outweighed your desire to piss him off. You did as he said, slowly lowering yourself to the ground and bending over, resting your hands down on the ground and spreading your knees apart, biting into your lip, knowing your angelic ancestors were rolling in their celestial graves. “Be quick, demon.”

Hongjoong got down onto his knees behind you, his cock standing at full attention from the sight of a haughty angel offering herself to him. “I’m the one who has what you desire, angel, so I will go at whatever pace that pleases me the most.”

“Then get on with it.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he couldn’t see you, about to say something snarky when the demon ran his heated hands up and down the curves of your waist, only stopping when he held them just above your ass.

With his hands cemented around your waist, Hongjoong slowly pushed himself into you, inch by inch until his hips were flush with yours, groaning so incredibly loud that his voice echoed throughout the large cavern. “Fuck, there’s nothing better than filling up an angelic virgin cunt like yours…”

“I’m…not…a virgin…” you struggled to inform the demon, gritting your teeth from how incredibly full you felt inside, your inner walls barely able to take his girth and size.

“Oh?” Hongjoong squeezed the supple flesh of your hips and ass, the pact on his hands leaving a pleasant burn wherever he touched you. “So angels suck and fuck each other too, eh? This is news to me.”

“You make it sound disgusting, demon. We conduct rituals that are ordained by God herself,” you huffed, glaring back at him with a fire in your eyes. “It’s a holy union used to connect our souls, to link our hearts.”

Hongjoong’s thrusts were quick, sloppy, but he made sure to fill you up completely every time he entered you, his cock heavy and almost hot inside your cunt, making you feel like you could melt. “So what are you doing now with me? Are we linking our souls, angel?” He snorted, sinking his fingers into your ass. “Because I think I’m just fucking you for the fun of it. And I think you like it, judging from that drool that’s falling from your pretty lips.”

You turned away from him, instead facing a few demons that had gathered around you, not having enough energy to care that they were pleasuring themselves to the sight of an angel taking the cock of a demon. “I’m not…drooling…” you exhaled out, your body completely relaxing into Hongjoong’s, just letting him use you to his black heart’s content.

Hongjoong let out a deep chuckle, hunching over slightly and speeding up his movements, the sound of your skin slapping together and your combined moans pleasing him and the demons around you both. “Liar. You’re not much of an angel, are you? All you’ve done is sin nonstop since you’ve visited my residence. Maybe you do belong down here with me.”

You grasped at the rough terrain below you, knowing it was going to scrape up your knees from how hard Hongjoong was pounding into you. “I’m-uuunh-doing this to bring-aaah-Lord Park down with me, demon. Don’t you forget..!”

“Is that so? You’re not also doing this for pleasure?” He ran a single finger along the edge of one of your wings, hearing you let out a small gasp.

“N-no, I don’t believe in losing yourself to earthly pleasures,” you lied straight through your teeth, gasping again once you felt the displeasure of suddenly being empty, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Well, I do.” Hongjoong simply chuckled, spreading your ass open with his talons and sending a few wads of spit into your other hole, gaining the approval of the demons that surrounded you.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” you called out from below, turning your head back to look at him with disgust.

“I’m simply having you in every way an angel deserves to be had…desecrating you in the way you deserve,” Hongjoong sighed out, reaching down to grab your wrists and hold them behind you, leaving you in a position that left you no choice but to take the Demon Lord’s pulsing cock inside your ass.

“Oh my god, you foul beast. No one’s ever-nnngh-done such a thing to me,” you panted heavily, being filled up somewhere other than your sacred center, in a place that wasn’t supposed to elicit any pleasure whatsoever. The feeling of your ass being filled up to the very brim sent waves of pure arousal through your holy form, making you wonder if you’ve always been tainted if you were enjoying such a filthy thing. You gazed hazily at the demons around you past your wet strands of hair, their noises of animalistic enthusiasm only growing louder as Hongjoong began to pound into your ass harder than before, his cock slipping in and out with ease, your body shuddering underneath his.

“Look at you, taking my demon cock in your tight virgin ass like this,” Hongjoong mused, mostly to himself, letting go of your wrists to grab back onto your wings, making you cry out in a bout of sudden pleasure. “Mmm, my sweet angel, if you admit it feels good to be fucked raw, to be taken like this in front of a demonic audience, to be owned by a Demon Lord, I’ll make you cum harder than you ever have during any of your silly little angelic rituals.”

What have you got to lose? Your pride? Your innocence? Your holiness? Sure, those things were important to you, but it was a little too late to salvage them. You wanted revenge and you were willing to do anything for it. Even if that meant getting on your hands and knees, surrounded by filthy creatures, and taking demon cock in the fourth circle of hell.

“It feels…so good…it’s unholy, so filthy…and I…I love it…” you panted out in between hoarse moans, a few beads of sweat cascading down your spine to the small of your arched back, coming to realize that you had begun to fuck yourself back onto Hongjoong’s cock, desperate for your release.

Hongjoong found great satisfaction in your submission, eagerly placing his hands on the bend of your wings, slowly running them down the thickest part of it to the thinnest, repeating this action when he heard how whiny you began to sound. “Mm, you’re so sensitive…”

“Pull them, please…” you practically begged, digging your fingers into the ground, almost smacking Hongjoong in the face with your wings when they spread out.

The demon gripped the thicker section of your wings and tugged them in an outwards motion, still drilling himself into you at the same time, panting too heavily to let out a proper laugh of satisfaction. “Let’s see, is the pretty angel going to cum from having her wings tugged on or because of the fat demon cock that’s stuffed inside her angelic little cunt?”

“Haaaah…both…” You were practically losing your sanity at this point, so caught up in the inescapable heaviness and lust in the air that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop driving yourself back onto his stiff cock. “Give me more…I’m so close…!”

“As you wish.” Hongjoong grabbed onto both of your wings at the base near your shoulder blades, holding them like handlebars, suddenly pulling out from your ass and thrusting back into your cunt, so deep and so hard that your arousal began squirting onto his cock, the clear liquid dripping down your inner thighs. “Such a slutty little angel, cumming so hard for a filthy demon like me…”

You could barely breathe, huffing and puffing on the ground, covered in sweat, your ass still up in the air, knowing Hongjoong was about to cum too from the way he was groaning and holding you still. “Don’t cum inside me…That’s reserved for higher ups only…”

“Too late,” he grunted, gripping your wings so hard that he ripped a few feathers out, pumping his cum into you, clearly delighted by your soft cries of pain and pleasure. “It doesn’t really matter anymore now, does it? You’re not welcome back up there, so it’s better that your guts are painted white with my seed.”

You shuddered, already feeling the demon’s load dripping down your slit, making you grit your teeth. “As long as I can stay up there long enough to seduce my Master, I’ll be fine...” You eventually stood up, your thighs trembling, your face flushed beyond measure, still dripping sweat. “So will you give me your power now…?”

Pleased with the sight of his cum dripping from in between your thighs and the sigil glowing on your neck, he stood up and put his hands on your shoulders, the sickening smirk returning to his prince-like face. “You already have it. You had it as soon as I wrapped my hand around your pretty little neck earlier.”

If you had any more energy to exert, you would’ve made an attempt to shove him over the edge of his throne and into the murky water below, but you simply stood there, your wings raising up slightly out of anger. “So you fucked me and filled me with your filthy seed for nothing?”

Hongjoong shook his head, clicking his forked tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Not for nothing, silly angel. For pleasure.” He raised a hand to caress your jaw, angling your face up to look deep into his eyes, appreciating how your own gold ones lost their color and instead were as dark and empty as his soul. It almost brought a tear to his eye. “And you enjoyed it too, begging for me to grab and pull at your wings the way you did, you naughty thing.”

You raised your own hand up, grabbing him by the jaw, surprising him and yourself with your sudden bout of strength and dominance. “If you don’t help me desecrate Lord Seonghwa, demon,” you began slowly, through gritted teeth, using your other hand to grasp at Hongjoong’s crown of thorns, not caring that the sharpened edges pricked into your fingers. “I’ll have no problem with taking this crown off and using it on you as a nice cock ring instead. Am I clear?”

Hongjoong couldn’t have been harder than in that moment, having corrupted and turned an angel into something that was able to frighten even himself, the Demon Lord of the Fourth Circle. Chuckling, he caressed your cheek lovingly, giving you a fond smile complete with sharp, jagged teeth. “Crystal clear.”

fff taglist: @itza-meee @chnt1 @k-hotchoisan @wonyobie @vampiregirl215 @yuyusbunny @christmastodoroki @luvt0kki @pieyoon @goldnhwa @choisanboobenthusiast @icyb3rry @maximofftrash @choism @yunhosmelonbar @nebulousbookshelf @astayinwonderland @slutologyy @10nantscompanion @ddaeing @pandagirl-016 @Randomgirl11-posts @staytiny816 @horanghae8 @smally97 @ateezzzser @crispybaguettes @bubblegumbird @midnightmaja @i2nsstuff @asimpelslut @svt-dinosaurus @wisejudgedragonhairdo @deathbyyeekies @firefox79 @wildesreblogs @everyonewooeverywhere @raspberrysannie @Whatintheninerealms @hyunjinsbby @Hyphenen @channiespup @abby-grace @seonghwaddict @mxnsxngie @jeongwangjessmina a

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #wonderlandnet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop smut

966 notes · View notes

summervale · 20 days

Text

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words: 2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!” She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

"Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could.

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

#game of thrones #unfinished fic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #fluff

202 notes · View notes

noneorother · 5 months

Text

The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 1

part 1 l part 2

This is going to have to be a multi-part series because there are *checks notes* 64 different covers that I've found so far.

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... 1. The original UK cover

Ahh, the standard by which all shall be judged. We're starting off with a nice & easy cover, with adorable woodcuts of Aziraphale and Crowley flanking a custom Good Omens font! While I have to take a few points off for the terrible kerning of the word "GoOD", the blockprint vibes and general bitchiness of Aziraphale's teeny weeny wittle face, along with the sick colour palette puts the orignial in my good graces. Tier: Great

2. The duelling US covers

Progress! Hail to the designer who figured out trying to make "GoOD" and "OMeNs" fit the same width was a fool's errand, and even managed to IMPROVE on the original handmade title by adding a little halo and devil's tale to the design. Aziraphale and Crowley are facing each other, while also managing to serve absolute cunt. Aziraphale is wearing EIGHTIES SNEAKERS. Crowley's little snake boots have HEELS. They've managed to keep the woodcut vibes and colour simplicity, while balancing out the full title of the book. Both authors get to trade off on who's name comes first! Dare I say, this is a work of genius. I could dock some points for Crowley's sad bat wings growing out of his right clavicle, but who am I to question greatness.

Tier: Blessed by God Herself

3. The Halo Master Chief(?) cover

How the mighty have fallen... As a Canadian child, I was subjected to maybe the most horrifying ad in existence by the War Amps warning children about machine safety. This cover is the paper embodiment of that ad. I am confused by the purple haze. I am frightened by the seeming ethereal flatness of Adam and Dog. I am strangely aroused by Aziraphale's eyebrows, and intensely saddened by the terrible outline/drop shadow they had to inflict on the type to fit "Pratchett" in that god awful space. Tier: WTF

4. Germany, Ein Gutes Omen covers

This cover inexplicably exists in two colour ways: red and teal. I put the audiobook cover here so you could experience the full illustration, and also how fucked up it is that they cropped the book version to include three horse-people of the apocalypse, but cut off DEATH on the regular cover. Points must be given for drawing a pretty slick Bentley, but I think we have to take even more points away for turning Crowley into a Ray Charles/Mike Wazowski hybrid. The ducks are nice. Tier: Not so Good (Omens)

5. Germany, Ein Gutes Omen covers continued

I don't know if the German designer of this cover *knew* that they were using western yeehaw cowboy woodblock letters when they made this cover, but judging by how they spaced the rest of the text at the bottom, THEY DID NOT CARE. And that seems to be a running theme for this one. We get kind of a duality thing going on with the black and pink background, but it just seems like somebody whispered the general themes of Good Omens into a jar, and threw it down a well, and this poor chap came along and picked it up. The baffling choice to align every piece of text on the cover *except* Neil Gaiman's name which is right aligned and rotated 90 degrees (not even real vertical type) will haunt my dreams, I think.

Tier: Bad

6. US, UK The Traffic Jam cover

For the love of Good Omens, WHY. I can think of so many more interesting symbols to put on the cover of this book than the ODEGRA SIGIL TRAFFIC JAM. Props for keeping the good colours and type, but like, I think this cover was secretly designed by @amtrak-official, or someone who just really, really likes public works. Tier: Does the Job

7. France, De bons présages cover

Leave it to France to make sure people know that Aziraphale and Crowley fuck severely. While I can't condone leaving out half the title of the book (and thinking a red carpenter's square counts as decoration), I can begrudgingly acknowledge that Ron Pearlman and Benedict Cumberbatch's love child is excellent Crowley casting. I think I give this a solid dark academia/10. Tier: Good (Omens)

8. France, De bons présages covers continued

Just imagine with me, if you will, the absolutely hilarious reality that this cover posits: Good Omens is exactly the same in every respect, but Crowley drives a pink 1950s convertible. Why do all of the colours on this cover look like they've been pre-digested? Why are the font choices and placement so bafflingly bad. My face is the demon's face holding that car. I feel his pain.

Tier: WTF

9. France, De bons présages covers continued

Minus points for not managing to write the full title of the book once again. I don't know what it is with the French. They seem pretty set on Good Omens being demonic. While I do appreciate a good Bosch-style demon party, the dude in the middle confounds me. All-caps Museo Sans that isn't even *centred* in the frame is just so lazy. I am le tired. Tier: Bad

10. France, De bons présages covers continued

Uhh. The font. The font is okay.... I think? Yeah. The font and kerning are. Okay. OHHH GOD I LOOKED DOWN BELOW THE TEXT WHYYYY. Tier: WTF

END of round one. I need a nap.

#good omens 2 #good omens fandom #good omens #art director talks good omens #tier list #cover art #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale x crowley #book cover #go s2 #gomens #good omens analysis

251 notes · View notes

whimsigothwitch · 1 year

Text

Mabon apple pie recipe

In celebration of Mabon next week, I am sharing my favorite apple pie recipe. I chose to share this a week in advance so that those who want to make it can prepare the ingredients. All ingredients can be plant-based, for those who are vegan the egg is not necessary (you may need to add a little more butter)

Witchy tips during baking:

Mix clockwise and say your intentions for the cake out loud, this could be "I welcome abundance into my life with open arms.", "I embrace the blessings of the harvest and celebrate the abundance it brings." or if you plan to share the pie with friends and family: "May this pie nurture the bonds of love and friendship among us."

When you sprinkle the spices into the cake, do this clockwise and say each correspondence out loud as you do this: Cinnamon: for love, and warmth Cardamom: for attraction and harmony Nutmeg: for prosperity and luck

Carve sigils of choice in the bottom of the pie before adding the filling.

Ingredients For the dough: 500 grams plain flour 1 sachet (15 grams) baking powder 150 grams of white caster sugar 50 grams of light brown caster sugar 150 grams of melted butter 1 egg Pinch of cinnamon, cardamom and nutmeg

For the filling: 1-1.5 kilos of apples 100 grams soaked and patted dry raisins (optional!) 1 tablespoon cinnamon (or more, until all apples are nicely coated)

To brush the dough before it goes into the oven: To give the cake a beautiful golden color, I recommend brushing the cake with 1 beaten egg OR a dash of milk of your choice before putting it in the oven.

Preheat the oven to 190 degrees celcius (374 F)

Peel and cut the apples into wedges, sprinkle with the cinnamon and the raisins that you have pre-soaked and patted dry.

Mix all the ingredients for the dough together until it becomes a crumbly dough (it should be able to stick together and not be too dry, if this is the case I recommend adding more butter to the dough!)

Grease a baking tin with butter or oil and line the bottom with baking paper.

Divide the prepared dough into 3 parts, and put 1 part over the bottom. Press this with your hands or a spoon with a little flour on it so that the dough does not stick.

Then take 1 more part of the divided dough and press it onto the edges around the baking tin. You can roll this out with a rolling pin and cut it to size, I think this takes too long so I just press the dough along the edges (about 0.5 cm thick)

Put the apple filling in the pie and spread it evenly.

Sprinkle the last remaining part of the made dough over the pie to get an apple crumble pie, if you want a lattice top: make a ball of the dough and roll it out with a rolling pin. Cut strips from the dough that are 1.5 cm wide and long enough to cover the pie. If you are making a lattice top, brush it with egg OR milk of your choice to give it a nice golden glow. If you have a crumb top this is not necessary.

Bake the pie for 40-50 minutes, but keep an eye on the pie because every oven is different! You know the pie is ready when you insert a toothpick or skewer into it and the apples can be pierced and the dough does not remain wet around the stick.

Let the pie cool down for fifteen minutes before removing it from the baking tin.

651 notes · View notes

remxedmoon · 3 months

Text

“the eternal wanderer. even death cannot release it from its plight.”

tribeless

1 power - 1 health - 7 bones

unkillable - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, a copy of it is created in your hand.

corpse eater - if a creature that you own perishes by combat, a card bearing this sigil in your hand is automatically played in its place.

brittle - after attacking, a card bearing this sigil perishes.

hidden trait - cursebearer

this card cannot be sacrificed at the sigil stones event.

finally posting my isatscryption stuff here!!! yipee!!! here’s a writeup about the card design because frankly i put wayy too much thought into all of these cards. sorry if these are a bit hard to parse!

unkillable and corpse eater effectively make sif immortal, since every time he dies, he’ll be placed back on the board! and i thought that was fitting for. y’know. timeloop reasons. brittle is only there to emphasize the whole constantly dying thing. because is it really isat without siffrin torment

also didn’t notice this until after i designed this card, but the brittle sigil art has a star on it??? not intentional in the slightest but it is Fitting

sif is a fox here! i know that that would technically put them in the canine tribe, but i felt it’d be more fitting for them to be tribeless? and base game inscryption already kinda bends the rules when it comes to tribes (such as the bullfrog being a reptile and the rabbit being treated internally as a rodent) so i think it still works

i’m well aware that card traits don’t actually have cool names or anything but i still want to give them cool names because it’s fun. anyways! cursebearer! i gave them this trait both because these sigils are extremely overpowered, and for lore reasons. sif sees their sigils as a curse! they don’t want to force them on anyone else!! it’s their burden to bear!!!

tangentially related to that last point, but sif is a talking card in this au! because it’s fun :3. and because i think it’d be really interesting to see how he’d react to the cabin

sif’s scar is covered by the hat a bit but it’s Star Shaped. and so is the eye shine teehee

this was the first card i made and Boy Does It Show. i had the WORST time trying to get the card generators to work for this because oops! both of the card generators are inaccurate in different ways! plus theres a few mistakes in the card art that i didn’t notice until after i finished most of the others... i promise the others are a little more polished

also, since i didn’t mention it above the cut, the sigil patch is for the bone king sigil! which makes the card award 4 bones instead of 1 upon death. this is less for lore reasons and more for the synergy with his sigils. since he’s constantly dying and coming back, he can basically give you infinite bones for Zero Cost. fun!

aaand i think that’s all the notes for this card! thanks for reading this absurdly long post. here’s his alt card art without the patch for your troubles 🫡

#marshdoodles #isat #in stars and time #inscryption #isatscryption #in stars and scrybes #<- fancy name yipee! i’m still going to primarily call it isatscryption but isas is easier to abbreviate #also! for anyone who doesn’t know me from the isat discord #this au is basically just tossing the isat characters into leshy’s cabin #it’s spiralled completely out of my control but that’s the basic premise #this au is also built on like. a weird fusion of act 1 and kaycee’s mod #hence the brittle sigil. kaycee’s mod but with story progression #ahhhhh sorry this post is so LONG but i have a lot of thoughts about this au!!!!#so uh. hope yall enjoy it!!! yipee!!!

519 notes · View notes

jacespookiebear · 1 year

Text

ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 7

summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings : incest, tension, sexual content, age gap (reader is about 2-3 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D

Masterlist

It was the big day. Your wedding. Well you could say your weddings. You had decided to keep it quick, you would marry under the seven while you were all still in King’s Landing. The happiest look on your step-mother’s face when you said this, smothering you in kisses before letting you be attended by Lysanna.

“How are you feeling?” Lysanna asked, placing your hair in a pretty hairstyle with braids crowning your head with the silver snood tucked underneath that she placed on your hair, curling all of the hair that was left down with her hands. You took a deep breath in to breath it all out, you were getting married in an hour, you never felt so nervous in your entire life. But it wasn’t official until you got married at Dragonstone. This could be seen as practice, except it was seen as real to your step-mother.

Lysanna helped you of your night gown and started lacing the wedding gown tight around your waist, it looked marvelous. “I am alright. I do hope it’ll be quick.” you answered, playing with your rings once again, twisting them up and down your fingers.

Lysanna let out a “hmph” before talking, “You truly look like a Princess on her wedding day.” The words danced around your mind, the anxiety wasn’t going down anytime soon. “Drink some water, please.”

About to ask if Lysanna needed help with changing once you sipped out of your cup but noticed quickly that she had already finished readying herself. You both walked to the celebration hall instead of the Sept. You let Lysanna enter the hall to join the rest of your family, you were waiting for your father to join you by your side, “my sweet daughter, you look beautiful.” he kissed your cheek as your handmaiden came over to place your House colors cloak around your shoulders, it had your sigil as well. The doors had opened and everyone turned to see who was revealed, you stepped inside to begin walking towards your soon-to-be-husband. Both of your families separated on each side, feeling a tug at your hand, you turned to your father who gave you a smile to which you return with a slight one. Your main focus was on Jace, his attire contained of black and gold, the gold appeared to be more darker than the gold that was on your dress. His jewelry seemed to ones that were once owned by his father, the sapphires and emeralds shining from the light on the windows.

He looked very dashing and seemed like Daemon had to help which made you smile even more. You had arrived walking down the aisle and stood next to Jace, he held no smile or emotion on his face. You understood why, he’s forced into a wedding he had no desire for. He held dislike for the Faith and you knew this. Your guilt was starting to come back.

You kept your eyes on the Septon who spoke for minutes that seemed like hours about the Faith and how you should devote yourself to the Seven. You turned to look over to your family, your sisters were smiling ear to ear and looking genuine. Daeron was also smiling and only nodded towards you once you gazed at him, mouthing to you, “you’ll be okay.” Aemond looked rather emotionless to you as well, you planned on speaking to him before you would have to leave. As for Aegon, he was staring off to space and not caring for the wedding at all, he was absolutely drunk and everyone could tell from the way he was always losing balance until Otto shoved him to act right. Daemon was holding onto Luke and Rhaena to keep them by his side while the Septon was speaking, you swore you saw Rhaena squeezing Daemon’s arm.

It had finally came to taking off your cloak. You gently took off the cloak by yourself, not wanting to worry your father since he already had use most of strength to walk you down and give you away. You folded it slowly, setting it on the ground next to you and Jace.

As well as Jace took off his cloak, with House Velaryon and Targaryen colors and their sigils on the cloak, he draped it over your shoulders. You held the cloak close to you, not wanting to let it go. After placing the cloak on you, he spoke his vows, “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife,” he finished.

You gave him a genuine smile before starting your vows, “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.” The Septon now granted you both were married, “You are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” he finished, closing the book. You both connected hands and slowly, you reached to kiss him on the lips. It was more of a peck than a kiss, it was your first kiss— you had no idea what you were doing. Lowering your head in embarrassment, trying to hide your head away from him but it did not help.

Alicent was the first to clap, smiling happily during the whole ceremony. Everyone all followed to clap but not as enthusiastically as your step-mother. You and Jace walked down together, hand-in-hand, not making any effort to speak to one another. You separated ways to head to your chambers to change, you were traveling back to dragonstone for your real wedding that was happening rather very soon. Though, this time it’ll only be you, Jace, and the rest of Rhaenyra’s family that will be attending.

So once you changed into your evening gown, you left the room as Lysanna called out your name, confused on where you’re going. You began to look around the castle for Aemond. To finally talk to him, to finally hug him, to finally-

“Sister?” Aemond called out, suspiciously, you turned to look to your side and found him standing by the corridors. His eyepatch was black, as dark as the midnight sky, his hair was getting more longer and his scar was healing day by day. He was getting older, and you weren’t here to see it. Immediately, you reached over and hugged him tightly. Sighing into the hug, he was rather left confused as you began to mumble.

“I have wanted to hug you ever since I arrived. Why have you been avoiding me, Aemond?” Removing yourself from his warmth, you stared into your brother’s eye, he pursed his lips and stared at his feet instead. Still grasping both of his hands and searching his face for an answer.

“I was afraid that..” he mumbled, afraid to finish his sentence. “that you have hated me after what had happened.” Finally answered, your eyes filling with tears and took him back into your arms. On your tippy toes, placing wet kisses all over his head, you knew he hated being babied by you but he let you do so. “My sweet brother, I could never hate you. You are my young brother and now we both ride the eldest dragons.” Holding his chin between your fingers, he no longer possessed chubby cheeks, his jawline was more defined.

The thought of you both riding Vhagar and Meraxes in glory was a great one, Aemond rubbed his thumbs on your waist as to soothe you both. “Marriage does not suit you, sister.”

You shook your head at his statement, you knew that as well. Your marriage was falling apart already, even your brother could see it. “I know.”

“It’ll get easier,” he muttered, “I shall be here for you.”

“Thank you.” you calmly said. Exchanging final goodbyes, you hugged him one last time. Your luggages were already packed since last night and they were out in the carriage. You bid farewell to your other family members, especially Helaena who had just received news from the maester that she was pregnant, you felt so distraught and disgusted that you can’t be here to help her. She was younger than you and was already having children. Promising her that she could arrive on dragonback to dragonstone anytime if she needed you or Rhaenyra.

“I’m so glad I got to see you sister,” Helaena whispered, the sadness was wretching your heart, at that moment you wished you could ask Rhaenyra if you could stay in King’s Landing just for a few months but you knew that was less likely to happen.

Giving her cheek a long and deep kiss before parting, “My sweet, you will see me again.” You felt like you were reassuring yourself more than to Helaena.

The ride back to dragonstone was a long and silent one. Rhaenyra and Daemon stayed inside the boat while you watched over Luke, Rhaena, and Liz who were playing with the wooden figures that belonged to Luke. All of your dragons flying above your boat, screeching to each other. You were nearly five feet away from Jace, sitting by the chairs that were next to the crashing waves, neither of you speaking. The silence was killing you, he was making no effort to talk to you but you could say the same for yourself.

You were wishing you were riding on Meraxes right now, you barely had any time now with her and you knew she missed you deeply. The ever so elegant dragon would always wail outside of dragonstone for your attention, poor girl, she was getting old and your time with her was ticking. But, she wasn’t alone. She was spending most days with Vermax, who would always try to play with her, her patience always ran out quick with the smaller dragon but would usually let him lay with her after he hunts dinner around the island for her.

Finally for what felt like hours, you all arrived on dragonstone. Letting Rhaenyra and Daemon step out of the boat first, you came out second while helping the younger kids. Turning to look over at the rocks, the preparations for your wedding were being made and they were quick with it. You were feeling rushed to change, you wanted to take it all slowly, this was your actual wedding and yet you weren’t as excited as you hoped to be.

Being rushed into a bath once you entered your chambers, your handmaidens were scrubbing you down harshly, making you moan and wince in pain as they mutter their apologies for being quick and rough. Their hands were forcing you into many positions to scrub other parts of your body, Lysanna was by your side, washing your hair with much more of a gentle touch and rinsing off the suds with colder water.

“Careful! Her skin is tender now!” Lysanna scolded the handmaidens, who were smearing your now smooth skin from the endless scrubbing with rose oil. They were all treating you like a child taking a bath for the first time, you were overwhelmed by how much a hurry they seemed to be. It felt like your wedding was already happening while you were still naked.

You mindlessly stared outside the huge window, silencing biting your lip from how cold their hands felt on your skin, they were making sure you smelled lovely like usual— lathering you in so much scented oils, you felt yourself almost become lightheaded from the varieties of smells. Though, you appreciated the massaging your young handmaiden was doing on your shoulders.

But you couldn’t stop the chills that wouldn’t leave your body, shivering with your teeth clattering. Lysanna wrapped yourself in your robe to pat the wetness down. “You all may leave now. I’ll handle her wedding robes.” Lysanna ordered, the handmaidens bowed and left your chambers for you to finish being attended to.

“Aw, Y/n! They’re lovely.” In her hands were the robes you would wear to your wedding. Not paying attention like Liz was, still looking out the window until she forced your attention back. Blinking your eyes to see clearly, you were struck with awe, the seamstress seemed to add more details to them. They were still the dark blue and black color you had tried on. The ends were blue but as they traveled up it became darker then black at the upper body area, The end of the robes, the arms, and the top of the first layer, were covered in the dark blue color but had Meraxes and Vermax sewed in.

“She added the dragons..” you breathlessly sighed, holding the robes in your hands.

Lysanna nodded without speaking another word, turning to untie your bath robes and left it laying on the ground. Making sure your body was dry enough, she wrapped the upper robes around you, tying the fabric to tighten your waist, adding the last layer over your stomach and shoulders, letting the black belt wrapped around the ends of the first layer to blend in. Finally, she had adjusted the lower bottoms of the robes to reach your feet, just in case you weren’t able to walk freely in it.

“You look like an Old Goddess,” she breathed, you were almost convinced to believe her once you saw yourself in the mirror, but you realized the headpiece was missing.

Turning around to look around for it but Lysanna caught on and stopped you, adding the silvery headpiece on top of your head. She decided to leave your hair unstyled, your natural curls were already making you look so beautiful.

Again you looked in the mirror, you looked ethereal. The headpiece was adding everything together. And Lysanna couldn’t agree more, standing by your side with her hands clasped together, she looked happy for you. You both were interrupted by the at knock at your door, revealing your sister. She was struck from your beauty, her face could show it.

Rhaenyra walked to you and Lysanna, kissing your cheeks softly, “Oh, my sweet sister. You look so magnificent.” Her eyes were becoming watery, “You look perfect,” she insisted, smoothing her palms on your cheeks, “Jacaerys will fall to his knees once he sees you.”

You choked on what to say. Instead, pulling her into a hug, gently to not hurt the baby. She chuckled, “I love you, sister.”

“And I love you too, sister.” you answered her, you were afraid of what she will say once she found out you and Jace were in a rocky relationship right now. But you didn’t want to think about that right now. Your mind was mainly focus on the wedding that was about to happen.

“It is time,” she said quietly, eyes meeting yours. She left your embrace to exchange some words with Lysanna, they both smiled warmly to each other until she left a kiss on Lysanna’s forehead.

Taking huge breaths of air, Lysanna and your sister walked you to the rocks by the shore, you heard waves crashing as you walked closer and closer to the rocks. Jace was already there with Luke, Rhaena, and Daemon present, Daemon helping him with his robes before walking over to help Rhaenyra go down the steps carefully.

You met Jacaerys in the middle of the ceremony, the same place that took place for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding as well, the Septon was standing there with a dagger and chalices on the rock table for you both. The anxiety of having to cut each other’s arms and lips came to you, you began pinching your arm to ease your nerves. Jace noticed this and rubbed your arm to comfort you.

You turned to look at him, his eyes fell onto you. You couldn’t help but melt at the fact that he was possibly warming up to you, just a little. As you all listened to the words of the Septon, you mindlessly dozed off again until he handed Jace the dagger, you were rather scared. Scared to be cut and with full warning and intent as well, he tried calming you once more by pinching your lips to make the cut so you wouldn’t feel it as much. The cut was small but deep enough for blood to draw. You appreciated the fact he did this to help you, you felt tears swelling in your eyes as you made eye contact with him, nodding to him that you were fine— he looked stoic but you knew he was nervous, afraid those were tears of pain. He then brought his remaining hand to place his thumb to your lips, collecting the blood and tracing the liquid on your forehead. His eyes were watching for any sign of discomfort from you but you only nodded again and smiling to reassure him once him.

Once he had finished, he handed you the dagger, and you repeated what he had just did. If he was nervous, you were 10x nervous, shaking as you made the cut on his lip, you made sure it was a light scratch but still, worried as you cupped his face to apologize. As if he was still a child who was hurt during training but your imagination disappeared once he placed his hand on your hand— to let you know he’s fine. You ran your thumb over his lips, smearing the blood to make sure you grabbed enough. You drew a symbol on his forehead, once you finished, you sighed with relief that it was over. You felt good, the hard part was over.

The Septon then handed your lover the chalice. You took the dagger and began cutting at your left palm, wincing in pain from the deep cut you had made. You were never good with pain, realizing you had a low tolerance to pain compared to your family, always have been. With the pain lingering as you squeezed your hand over the chalice, you wanted to wince in pain, letting your blood drip into to the cup. Jace repeated what you did after handing your other hand the chalice for you to hold, he held no reaction once he cut into his right palm unlike you, you were almost envious that he didn’t feel no pain. You could hear Luke, in the background, hissing from the amount of blood that was being shed. You put the cup under his hand as he squeezed, your blood mixing with his in the chalice.

Began to drink from the chalice after speaking repeated vows from the Septon. The taste was bitter and very much like iron, you were not disgusted by it, it was rather natural considering you have the blood of the dragon. Dragons drink blood, afterall. Finishing your sip, you gave it to your lover. Though, you were rather okay with the taste, Jace wasn’t. His face screwed with bitterness and slightly squinted from the horrible taste, you wanted to giggle at his reaction but remained composed.

With blood coating his lips and tongue, he then brought his hand to cup your cheek once more before leaning in to kiss you. More confident than the last time, you leaned in as well. Your lips connecting and this time, you dipped your head back to kiss him once more, pressing your bloodied lips onto his soft ones— cupping both of his cheeks with your hands, staining his right cheek with blood from your cut.

Jace was rather confused from your sudden kiss, part of him wanted discontinue it for that he was still upset with you but this was something he had longed for years. The feeling of your lips was becoming addicting to him, his eyes immediately closing and savoring the taste of your lips. Forgetting that your family was behind you, he pulled you closer to him, his arms around your waist so protectively, he was scared to let you go. You both finally parted to breathe, panting heavily as you looked back into his now opened eyes, your lips were swollen from the long kiss and immediately created distance from him, afraid you crossed the line of boundaries.

As you were about to apologize, you heard claps being made by Rhaena and Luke. Realizing they were all there and watched the passionate kiss, you panicked and became even more embarrassed. You couldn’t really the say the same for Jace, instead of embarrassment— you swore you saw lust in his eyes, like he was about to kiss you again.

“Let’s wash your face and have you ready for supper!” Lysanna interrupted your intimate thoughts, as you wiped the smear blood on your looks, you were being scurried back into the castle while your eyes were trained on Jace, you neither spoken a word to him throughout the weddings or the trip back but you were able to speak so much through your actions.

Lysanna brought you to a whole other chamber, it was rather bigger and you were surprised. The bed was more bigger, seems to be the same size as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s— you knew it was your now shared chambers with Jace. It appears your handmaidens had already brought some of your collected art pieces and artifacts into the chambers to hung them up during your wedding. She brought out a wet cloth and started wiping your face very carefully in order to not hurt your wound.

“Was I okay?” you suddenly asked, blurting the question out without any context. You meant how you looked during your wedding.

Lysanna gave you a confused look to which you gave a pleading one in return. She unwrapped your robes and gently pressed her fingers on your palm, the one with the wound. Applying a bandage to wrap around your hand. “I am lost by what you mean.” Turning around to find an appropriate gown for you to wear.

Sighing, “I mean, did I present myself..” trying to find the perfect way to describe your question, “did I do alright?”

“Well, you certainly looked like you were in love,” She spoke, looking through your closet, still deciding for you to wear. Lysanna then let out a contented gasp, pulling out a white and golden gown that had sheer patterned sleeves and sheer designs on the skirt with the same patterns. “Were you faking it?”

Inserting your arms into the sleeves, you fiddled with the skirt while she laced the strings behind the gown. You were remembering what was happening in the wedding, leaving yourself feeling slightly panic and flustering from the sudden and passionate kiss you shared with Jace. His lusting eyes that were laying upon you wasn’t helping your case, it left you wanting to finish what you had started.

“No. I wasn’t.” shaking your head, looking at yourself in the mirror while she help put your half of your hair into double braids before connecting them across the back of your head and leaving the rest of your hair alone.

Lysanna smiled and nodded her head, leaning away to take a good look at you. “Good. It looked real.” Giving her a genuine smile from her response, it held no lie to it. She went over to your vanity and gave you jewelry to pick and wear. After you had finish adding earrings and a necklace, she held your hand to ease your nerves and lead you to the dining hall. She walked with reassurance and confidence, you were envious from the way she was able to look so proud but yet again she wasn’t the one who had just got married. She had no reason to be nervous or scared like you.

You entered the dining hall, lifting your skirt to step down carefully. Your family was already there, eating and conversing with one another. Rhaenyra looked up from her seat in the middle end of the table, gave you a smile. You sat by her side, Lysanna joining you all by sitting next to Rhaena and Luke, they begun laughing at silly jokes that Rhaena babbled.

“The ceremony was absolutely beautiful,” Rhaenyra praised, as Daemon handed you a cup of wine. You were hesitant to take it but still took a small sip. “It is good to be back in Dragonstone.” Quickly nodding at her statement, you felt more at home here. But yet, you missed your siblings dearly, remembering what you had saw with Helaena and Aemond.

“Your trip to Winterfell is on the morrow, is it?” Daemon asked, seemed to genuinely be interested to know more. He shown more fascination and interest in you and your life, it was a kind gesture and made you see him in a different light.

You were excited, none the less. You were finally visiting the north, you longed for this opportunity. Ever since Lysanna spoken stories of the cold land, you had wanted to see it for yourself. To feel snow, to make snow angels, to find direwolves, you were truly about to explode with excitement. “Yes! But I still have many things to pack. Lysanna, as well.”

“It’s alright. I had it all packed for you.” Jace suddenly spoke up, still eating his dinner as he paid no mind to you. You looked over to his side, appreciated at the fact he went out of his way to do that for you.

Warmly smiling to yourself, the fear of him hating you washed away. He cared for you, no matter what. “Thank you.”

“You looked like a goddess, cousin! I hope to look as beautiful as you in my own wedding.” Rhaena happily chirped, her eyes filled of hope while Daemon gave her a non-threatening stare from how she already declared wanting to be married.

You laughed at how eager she sounded, “That’ll be a long time, I assure you.” Daemon announced, Rhaenyra sighed from his response as Rhaena frowned. But you knew he meant well, he just doesn’t want to see her grow up so fast.

Finally finished your meal, you got up from your seat and walked towards Rhaena and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead before giving her and Luke a bear hug. “My sweetlings, so sweet to me. Be good to your parents.” they both were so young and already speaking of such topics. You just wanted to pocket them in your coat and take them everywhere with you. “May I visit Meraxes?” you asked Rhaenyra, whipping her head around as she gave you a quick nod, laughing with Daemon. The night was still young and you took the advantage to find your old dragon.

Placing one last kiss on Rhaena and Luke, you whispered to Lysanna to take them to bed soon. Leaving the hall to grab your cloak, you begun to walk out the castle with such hurry, looking across the island and ran in such pace to seek warmth and comfort from Meraxes. Upon your arrival, she turned her head to greet you, mewling loudly to declare how much she missed you, you knew your family had heard her. Holding onto her so tightly, hugging her by the side of her large head, she affectionately leaned in your touch. Compared her size to you, she barely leaned in just to not hurt you.

“Shijetra nyke, Merakses. Ēdan issare tolī nūmāzma naejot ao.” (“Forgive me, Meraxes. I have been to cruel to you.”) She seemed to understand you so easily from the way she wailed, huffing and puffing as you scratched underneath her mouth. The least you could do for her is let her rest for the remainder of her days, her entire life— all she ever knew was war and evil schemes that she was forced to be played in. You never thought about using her like that, she was too old for that now.

Perhaps that is why Meraxes picked you, maybe it wasn’t only because you had reminded her of the Queen Rhaenys, the way you would be silly around her, danced and played in the empty fields with her when you were younger reminded her of the old days with Rhaenys. Reading Aegon’s Conquest to Meraxes in High Valyrian so she would understand, she felt like she was in paradise and wanted to stay by your side until it was her time to rest for eternity. Never having to be at war again, having the opportunity to fly freely with you, relaxing in the deep lake with you was pure bliss.

If Meraxes could speak to you, she would thank you for rescuing her. For having the opportunity to live a peaceful life, living in where she was born, with other companions such as Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax and Arrax.

You placed your coat underneath you, instead of riding with her, you decided to rest with Meraxes instead. It would not be wise to sleep out here, you would worry your family but if you spent more time away from your dragon, you would’ve gone mad. “Hemtubis īlon kipagon syt Ropatasōnar. Ao se kesan ūndegon sōna syt se ēlī jēda.” (Tomorrow, you and I ride for Winterfell.) your words slowly becoming a whisper, dozing off to slumber— but your dragon’s low huff almost woke you up. Closing your eyes, your head resting near her clean, silver scales. Her large wing protectively resting above you, not strictly above to not suffocate you.

While you peacefully slept without a worry right by Meraxes’ side, your husband wasn’t so peaceful. He sat by the edge of your shared bed in your new shared chambers, wondering where you were. You weren’t in your old chambers either, the last time he heard you were with Meraxes. Getting up from his spot on the bed, wrapping his bare torso and arms with a night robe to look for you outside, letting the knights know he will be searching for you. Jacaerys was rushing down the steep hill, the rocks, and sand to find you— almost stepping in holes from time and time. He easily found Meraxes, she was the largest dragon afterall, she was easy to spot.

Jace wanted to feel angry, you never alerted anyone about how long you would take. He’s off looking for you around the island as always, but he couldn’t help the growing nervousness in his chest for your safety, worried you could be injured. No matter how much anger Jace holds over you, you still have him wrapped around your finger so tightly that no matter what you do, he would always find his way back to you. And the worst part is, you were unaware of this fact.

Once he reached Meraxes, she quietly mewled towards him, Jace patted Meraxes— she was sleeping so peacefully while you were laying right next to her, shivering in your sleep, arms curling tightly by your chest for some warmth, your cloak nor Meraxes could save you from the cold winds. You looked so peaceful and beautiful until he looked clearer. Your face was not only dried with tears, your teeth clattering together and your brows furrowed .

Without a thought, he quickly unwrapped his robes and wrapped it over you. For a brief moment, you were no longer shivering and began leaning into Jace’s warm embrace, he was known for being a literal walking furnace. He was wearing nothing now besides his breeches while you were layered comfortably but yet held around Jace’s arms, he couldn’t help but feel butterflies roaming inside his stomach from your touch. He decided to breathe into your palms from how cold they unusually are.

From the much movements around you and the sudden warmth, you began to wake up. Rubbing your eyes and mouth slurring, your eyes slowly widen from the view of Jace holding onto you protectively. At that sight of your husband, you were shocked to see him.

“What are you doing here?” you slurred your words, unintentionally, wiping the dried tears from your cheeks.

Jace tried to keep his eyes from looking back at you, “I was worried about my wife.” he stated simply. You grew quiet from his words.

You mumbled, “Oh..I apologize for worrying you, I must have woken you from your slumber,” your voice shaky. You were afraid you had made him mad even more but he shook his head.

He rubbing your forearms with a gentle touch. “I stayed up waiting for your return to our chambers. I had wondered if you went back to your old chambers.”

You looked at him for a moment, before more tears ran down your face, from the thought that he thinks you didn’t want to be with him, share chambers and share a bed hurt you. “Why would I abandon you,” you whispered, you were not asking, you knew the answer. He looked at you with guilt on his face, probably for even assuming you wouldn’t want to be near him during the night.

“It was foolish of you to be out here so late in the night.” he scolded, “you could have become sick just by staying out here for a bit.”

“I’m so sorry, Jacaerys,” you apologized, though, you weren’t apologizing about staying out here. He knew why you were apologizing, it felt all too real for the both of you. You were finally gonna speak your truth, speak your feelings. “I already failed you as a wife. Your future Queen. You hate me so much and it is my fault.” You had let out a sob, one that was a cry for help. All he could do was just listen to you belittle yourself as you continued to explain. “We were once close, do you remember? You always had your nightmares and crawled in my bed, excusing yourself as only wanting to protect me during the night.” Jace chuckled at the remembrance of the memories you both shared together. Remembering it like it was last night. “To see you hurt over something I had caused broke me deeply..of course I love you, I love you so much it hurts my heart to see you slip away from me. I don’t like to see you with another lady, and I don’t like to think about how you could have been betrothed to someone else who isn’t me. Your love and devotion for me is all I can ask for. But..please, you must understand why I was scared to marry, my mother was forced to squeeze out children until she died. Knowing that will be me someday, frightens me, worries me that I may not give you an heir.”

As you finished, Jacaerys laid there— with so many thoughts running through his mind. You love him, and yet he never thought about how it was like for you, his sadness breaks you down to the point you’re a wreck because you love him. He noticed, he noticed how much quieter you become during and after the betrothal, and how you barely even made the effort to wish farewells to your family as you went on the boat.

Realizing now, imagining you dying in childbirth frightened Jacaerys so much to the point his hold on you tightened. To lose you, especially to childbed, it put the poor boy in shock.

Jace pulled you closer to him, both of you becoming sweating from how hot under the robes and cloak were, “You’re not my nephew anymore, you are my husband. And I need to start seeing you as my husband.” Suddenly he looked down from the touches you placed on his left hand, he watched you took off the ring your father, his grandsire had left to you. The ring he had worn as a wedding ring with his wife, your mother— the rings that represented their love for one another. You placed the ring delicately onto his ring finger, twisting it around occasionally. It now belonged to him.

“I love you, Jacaerys,” you sobbed, rushing to press your hands on his bare chest. You were an emotional wreck. But yet, he didn’t know what to say. “Please speak to me.” Gods, your voice was breaking his heart. Why can’t he speak? He loves you so much. He would do anything for you. He would go as far as to kill for you.

Placing his forehead against yours, finally gaining the courage to speak, “You and I were meant to burn together.”

Without hesitation, he roughly grabbed you by your silvery hair and placed a rough kiss onto your lips, you quickly returned the kiss with such eagerness. The kiss almost knocked the winds out of you, you weren’t expecting Jace to be so rough but you didn’t care. Pulling away to catch your breath for a quick moment before reaching once again to his lips, your tears continued to fall from your eyes, mixing into your lips— making the kiss become wet.

His hands falling to grip your waist, laying on top of you as he moved once again behind to unlace your gown, in such swiftness, your gown was slowly coming off and you immediately shivered from the strong winds. Jace broke the kiss to set your dress aside but once he placed it next to you both, his eyes laid upon your bare body— you had changed tremendously over the years, you were now a lady and Jace could see that quite clearly from the way your breasts were much more fuller and the sides of your body were now curvier.

From his wandering eyes, you were becoming embarrassed. Was he disgusted by you? Were his expectations ruined? You felt like curling up into a ball and hide away.

Reaching to cover yourself with your arm, feeling even more embarrassed that you had to hide your breasts away. Before you could even react, his hands placed your arms above your head, Jace’s lips came down onto yours again, this time more sweeter than the first one. You brought your hands down to bury them in his hair, as you moved your lips against his.

His tongue swiped across your lips, wanting to deepen the kiss. You opened your mouth with slight hesitation, but it soon disappeared and replaced with lust— moaning at the newfound feeling of his tongue. Jacaerys moved away to place sweet kisses all over your neck, pulling you into him more harshly, hips smashing into each other. Without your gown on, you could feel everything, his body heat, and every part of his body. You were whimpering in seconds from how he began to place lovebites on your shoulder and collarbone.

His hands moved up your body, going up and down on your hips before resting his palms on your breasts, gently massaging the soft, ample mounds. When he lightly pinched the sensitive buds, you let out a moan, pulling on his hair as he continued to graze your nipples. Jace groaned, taking it as permission, he dipped his head into your chest before he began to suck harshly, even began nipping your buds to earn more sounds from you. To think this was his first experience with you, you would have thought he was skilled at this. But no, neither of you had touched someone like this before, and it felt good. The relief washing over you when you would be losing your virtue to Jacaerys and not someone like Aegon or an old High Lord who wouldn’t even thought once about your pleasures and desires.

Both his hands continued to pinch at your skin, while you started whimpering. Traveling up to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. You were withering away into ecstasy as he continued. His hands drifted from your chest, down your waist, slowly as you could feel his hands on your thighs, he retrieved away from your neck, admiring the work he done with the lovebites scattering all over your neck, collarbone, shoulders, and your breasts.

“Jace…” you whined. Clearly frowning from the loss of heat that his body provided for you while he was exploring your body.

The way you were already missing his touch was starting to get Jace feeling worked up, your pity eyes and your pouty lips was just the icing on top of the cake. He wanted to have his way with you right then and there, pleasuring the both of you so eagerly but he knew he would have to be patient. Your pleasure absolutely comes first. Though, he was glad you both were far away from the castle, your family wouldn’t have to hear you both.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked, confused but still remained to lay on your cloak. Shifting uncomfortably, wondering if it was over already, if it was only just in the heat of the moment. Your thoughts were cut short when Jacaerys spread your thighs apart, groaning at the sight that was laid in front of him and the feeling of the fat of your thighs in his hands. Letting out a shocked gasp from the cool air blowing into your cunt.

Jace looked up to you, not exchanging any words but the look on his face was asking for your permission to continue. You nodded, allowing him to dive his head between your legs. He gave your cunt a wet kiss before bringing his fingers to slip through your folds, groaning at how wet you are, you subconsciously brought your hand to grip the wrist to his wandering hand, that was smearing your wetness all over your cunt.

He gave you a light smile from how easily wet you were. Wanting to tease you some more, “All for me, my love?” you were feeling rather more embarrassed than you ever were with Jace. You couldn’t muster anything to say back, as an result Jace lightly smacked your cunt— loudly yelping at the impact, it frightened Meraxes who was still besides you both. You had started realizing where you both were, right by the ocean and way too close to your dragon, who seemed to be very annoyed by the loud and erotic noises you both were making.

“C-Could we take our affairs into our- ah! Jacaerys!” you cried out, as you were trying to suggest going back inside, he continued to spread your lips with his tongue, lapping your juices from your dripping hole. He began moving his tongue in and out of you with his fingers patiently moving towards your clit to rub it slowly before it started to fasten. You propped yourself onto your side, wanting more.

The lewd squelching noises had only made you feel warmer and turned on. You gave out and fell on your back once more, babbling with soft whimpers— you could not control your voice, expressing how much it feels good. With his tongue still inside you, it made your skin burn, had your toes curling on his back as your thighs wrapped around his head, your hands gently yanked at his hair to pull him away from your cunt, it was beginning to become too much for you, sending vibrations through your body. “J-Jace..too much..”

While trying to escape his grasp, his hands removed themselves from your nub and moved to your sides— holding your hips down, allowing him to gain control again, rather than letting you move away from his face. Whimpering from the tight hold Jace has on your hips, he decided to pull you more closer to him, deepening his tongue inside your cunt. With his fingers again, he rubbed tight circles on your clit, it brought you a different kind of pleasure, the feeling of your stomach turning, like something snapped.

He hummed against your cunt, acknowledging that you were close, deciding to replace his mouth and to slowly add two fingers inside. Thrusting them in and out of you, careful not to hurt you but that thought quickly disappeared after he heard you babble the loudest moans you ever let out tonight, “Please..don’t stop, ñuha vēzos.” you whimpered out. To hear that nickname come out of your mouth after so long made his cock hard, fastening his pace before adding another then another. The cold feeling of the ring that was still placed on his finger, thrusting inside you had you falling apart. It was a newfound feeling that you seemed to already become addicted to, adding more to your pleasuring.

With his face pulled away from you, lips dripping with your juices, but his fingers never stopped, the pleasure continuing, “It’s alright. Let go, ñuha hūra qēlossās,” he urged, as he dove back to kiss you messily, aggressive like the first kiss you had shared with him, driving his tongue into your mouth, he happily swallowed your moans and whimpers that you were letting out, his thumb ferociously rubbed your clit to help you cum quicker, it felt so good.

You listened to his words. You tried to let go, allowing yourself to relax and enjoy the pleasure he was giving you. It was soon that you felt that same feeling that was building in your stomach, it felt like a tight knot snapping. You pulled harder at Jace’s hair, in silence, pulling your mouth was away from his, a thin string of saliva connecting. You saw white stars in your vision, desperately trying to come down from your high. Your vision and hearing were lacking, giving Jace a small huff when he tried to call your name, you could barely hear him.

He pulled his fingers out of you, your hole was left clenching nothing as it leaked out all of your juices. Slowly regaining your vision, you gave Jace a hazy smile, and reached up to pull him closer to you. Letting out a mewl at the way he cupped your breasts, firmly, smothering them in sweet kisses.

With his hands on your breasts, you wrapped your legs around him again, finding familiar pleasure in the friction of rubbing yourself against him through his breeches. Jace let out a relaxed sigh from the endless grinding. He looked up to see you, you were too deep in pleasure to notice him pulling himself away, and lowering his breeches. His cock sprung up, he re-adjusted himself on top of you. He was rather bigger than you imagined. Deep in your thoughts, you didn’t notice how he moved his tip down your slit to collect your wetness, mixing it with his pre-cum to make his cock even more wet.

You tried to fix yourself as you can while still drowsy from your previous orgasm, bringing your hand to hold him, carefully. Your hand was gentle, not wanting to squeeze him hard— you wrapped it around his length, and his eyes were closed as he hissed at your touch, his stomach was tensing up.

“Gods,” he strangled, you looked up to him and his face contorted in pleasure. You moved your hand and replaced it with your tongue, placing his whole length in your mouth, you began to gag on his cock but you wanted to bring some pleasure to him, like the good wife you are. Continuing to move your head slowly, you were getting the hang of sucking him off. The surprising act had Jace shocked, to see you trying to please him so eagerly.

The thought of just letting you suck him off until he released in your mouth made him feel excited, but that wasn’t what he planned. As much as he didn’t want to, he gently pull your mouth off him. He wanted to be inside you. Retrieving yourself away, frowning as you wiped your mouth, to your disappointment, Jace gave you a smile and placed a wet kiss on your neck, “Forgive me, my love but I want to feel your cunt.” you clenched at his words, nodding and allowing him to tuck your curls behind your ear, guiding you to lay back down on your cloak.

He wrapped his own hand around his cock, now wet enough to line himself at your entrance. Placing your arms around your husband’s shoulders, making him come closer to you in the hopes of having some sort of reassurance, as you laid craving his cock. Jace slowly pushed himself inside you, working his cock into your cunt. The stretch was rather more bigger than with his fingers, whining as your nails dig into his back— your legs wrapped around his hips, tightly. The feeling was uncomfortable, you couldn’t breathe properly nor move. He continued sliding inside you, settling himself comfortably until he had your approval to start moving again.

Jace leaned into your neck, breathing in your scent and groaning at the feeling of finally being inside you. How he waited for years to wed you. He stayed quite snugged in you, eventually, bringing his head up to meet your eyes. He could see the hold of discomfort in them, to relief the mild aching—he brought his fingers down to your clit again, rubbing circles, recklessly, in hopes to help you find pleasure. As his fingers remained on your nub, your body had began to relax and erupt in pleasure once more. You closed your eyes, rocking yourself back and forth to bring more. You moaned at the feeling of Jace bringing himself in and out of you. Slowly thrusting back into you, never taking his hand away from your clit, instead he started to rub your nub even faster, making you feel more heat.

As he continued to slide in and out of you at a cautious pace, you were begging for more. Babbling at your husband to go faster, he complied without a word. Bringing your legs over his shoulders, you both could hear your skin clapping together. His pace was rather brutal and hard, but oh gods, it felt so good. Your head fell back, mouth left open as Jace continued his harsh thrusts. Blood dripping from his back, the feeling of your nails digging deeper into his skin almost made Jace collapse from how good it felt. Wanting to quiet his groans, he began to nip at your neck, you were clenching tightly around him, “Don’t stop! Please! Please! Ah!”

His pace quickening as you bounced against him, lost in the pleasure. Your mouth laid open, your moans beginning to become too loud. Jace swore the knights that were on nightwatch could have heard you. Removing his fingers from your clit, Jace stuck his fingers in your mouth to hush you, immediately you began to suck on them so desperately as your eyes rolled back so far.

The tight knot in your stomach came back, falling over from the feeling again. Crying out for Jace with his fingers still in your mouth once his thrusts slowed down. You took his fingers out of your mouth, afraid you would bite them by accident. Not sure on where to place them, he decided to wrap his hand around your neck and began to squeeze. The feeling was unfamiliar but it felt amazing, you felt yourself liking the newfound feeling as you were beginning to feel dizzy during your high, about to pass out from the way he was constricting your breath as he continued fucking you.

Your high ending, becoming very sensitive to the continuing movement inside you. “Please..inside me..” you choked, wanting to feel his cum inside you. You felt his thrusts stuttering, more messier. Jace wanted to pull out, spill himself on your breasts but hearing your words, he complied. Without saying anything back, he thrusted one last time, deeper this time. Spilling his cum inside, not wasting a drop while thrusting all of it inside your leaking cunt. You both moaned in unison at the feeling, taking his hand off your now bruised neck, replacing it with his face to rest on your neck, kissing it gently as he continued to spill inside you. Oh, it felt so good, the feeling of his warmth filling you. With strong arms around you, carefully Jace pulled out of you, both of you hissing at the loss feeling and you whined, clenching around nothing, wanting him to stay inside you forever.

Jacaerys pulled away, finding his breeches and bringing it to your thighs to clean you up right away. Wiping away the cum and saliva that was dripping down your stomach and thighs. You looked up at him confused, and upset he was using his only clothing. “My love, what will you wear now?” Rushing to stop his actions with your hand, Jace shook his head and only continued until you were clean. Slightly wincing from the sensitivity down there.

“Let me attend to you.” he ordered, he was not asking. Without wanting to start a disagreement, you nodded. He had you turned to the side to wipe away any sand that sticked to your body and placed you gently back down on your cloak. “I’m sorry, I was too harsh with you.”

You melted further into the cloak, eyes growing tired, his sweet words made you shake your head and only smile sweetly. “It is fine. I don’t mind, it was me who was too harsh with you, my love.” Bringing his hand to cup your cheek, he felt himself growing guilty from your words. He didn’t want your first time to be something that you felt you had to be punished for. He would never be that cruel to you, he wasn’t someone like Aegon. He was your devoted husband, who would go to great lengths to protect you. The sweat across your body and face, the tired look on your face, the bruises and marks on your body. This was not what Jacaerys wanted for you, but you were just happy to finally have his forgiveness, you tried to reassure him that you wanted it just as much as he wanted it. Happily humming once he placed his robes around you, slipping underneath the robes, taking you in his arms once again. You laid your head on his bare chest, finding warmth and comfort.

He was smoothing your hair out, tangling his fingers. Your braids had became messy and unkept but it didn’t matter to Jace. “My sweet wife..” he whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead. The guilt never went away, not once, remaining in his mind as he tried to sleep. “I am fine, my love.” you urged, trying to make sure he knows you are well while you were still awake. He gave you a sweet smile, to help you believe he is not worried anymore. As he began to hear the soft snores coming from you, all Jace could think about how unfair he was to you. He let his anger get the best of him, remaining bitter and sour to you when you tried to apologize once. As you tried to win his affections back, letting you wither in sadness. You were never cruel to him.

It was never that big of a deal, he thought. for you to feel the need to always be there for your step-mother. Of course it wasn’t, you were just trying to make everyone happy. Was he only mad because he was just envious? Envious that he and his family weren’t the only ones you held such strong familiar feelings for? No matter what the outcome was, whether your family bullied his mother, or accused them of being bastards, or even taking your freedom from almost everything that you felt you had to leave— you would always be tied to Alicent and your other siblings because of your connection to them.

All his life, Jacaerys tried to catch all of your attention. Wanting to be the one who caught your eye, never finding it fair that you mainly laid your eyes on your other family. Always comforting Aemond, reading with Helaena, chasing Aegon around incase he made a fool of himself, or when you were busy with writing letters back to Daeron.

Jace thought once you were married to him, you would finally realize you only needed him in your life. You didn’t need Alicent, or your brothers and sister. If you had ask him to take you away and settled down in Essos or Pentos, he would’ve gladly packed a bag and ride off with you on Vermax while knowing the risks that came with it.

You were enough for him. So why wasn’t he enough for you?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Atleast they made up😍 kinda- but omg I’m never writing smut again that was tiring and scary (I’m lying..) HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO LONG LMFAO

taglist (woohoo!): @sigynxlokiwifelover @l-3-e @audigay @urmomsgirlfriend1 @cold-v0dka @cookielovesbook-akie @theoriginalwife000 @xoxovenusquinn(would not let me tag u:( @ghalakgx (would not let me tag:( @neenieweenie @classysassynabitsmartassy @generousbearwolflight @gariben @si1versamurai @deltamoon666 @aemondssiut (would not let me tag u:( @thelastemzy @ryantryan6969 @topazy @starogeorgina @infinitleyethereal @speedypeter @dramaroomrat @potatolady189 (would not let me tag u:( @zzz000eee @parkchaeyoung1997 @jaehyunyah

1K notes · View notes