#FF - Part 16

[kuqisaki]

i believe what you say phoenix... ...but i have duties of my own, and i must discharge them

[jtl-fics]

the phrase "fluent freshman" has completely lost all meaning to me now. i am no longer aware of those words on their own. that's not a first-year college student proficient in languages anymore, it's our little anxious guy <333

Me whenever anyone asks about his first name anymore: Oh shit that's right it's not just Fluent Freshman Smith - FFS (for fucks sake).

[h-a-unted]

It's crazy how I have fantasy and military stuff on the brain at the same time... Like really? 16 and Black Ops together? What happened to my brain today lmao.

[silverglass83]

Title: Forever, My Treasure, My Star Category: M/F, M/M Pairing: Clive Rosfield/Jill Warrick , Dion Lesage/Terence , Joshua Rosfield & Jote    Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI Rating: Mature (May change)

Summary:

Valisthea continues to crumble under the weight of the expanding Blight, and those who remain after Origin's Mothercrystal fell from the sky are forced to find a way to survive in a land now bereft of magic. Jill saw it herself: the fires of Metia have gone out. The red star, the embodiment of hopes and wishes, is no more. And with it dies her heart. However, what if Metia's star didn't grant wishes? Rather, what if it was a beacon in which all of Valisthea's hopes and dreams coalesced – a powerful spell not unlike what Ultima had planned. But unlike Ultima's schemes, this power would herald the dawning of a bright, new age upon the world. ...If only its hero can find his way home... *** I'm still in the early stages of writing so tags will change. I haven't decided on Rating yet, so it's Mature for now. There might be sexy scenes later, but idk. I just want everyone to live and be happy, so we'll see where this goes!

Tags: Alternate Ending | Fix-it | Headcanon | Takes place after the end of the game | Spoilers | Contains original female character as Leviathan the Lost | Grief/Mourning | Suicidal Thoughts | Jill's in a Dark Place | But who can blame her | Returning Home | My headcanon to explain the mysteries unsolved in the game | And tying them all together in a neat little bow | Happy Ending | Loss of Powers | Loss of Magic | Reunions | All the Feels | Bring Everyone Home | Tags may change

[nebuvoid]

i have many big thinkies about FFXVI, but one thing i gotta hand to them is that they have the best Cid in my humble onion

[novaursa]

A Flame All Her Own

- Summary: Caraxes always knows how to snatch all your attention for himself. Which leaves Daemon jealous of his own dragon. 

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the bold and the beautiful

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

The morning air is thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea as you stand by the cliff edge, Caraxes sprawled before you, his great, sinuous body stretched luxuriously along the rocks. His scales glisten, the deep crimson reflecting in the morning sun as his slitted eyes, always watchful, follow your every movement. The dragon’s head rests lazily beside you, large enough that one of his breaths could likely knock you off your feet, yet gentle as he huffs softly, nuzzling your hand as you scratch just beneath his horned jaw.

“You’re spoiling him,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind, laced with a tone that’s both disapproving and… sulking? You smirk without turning around, knowing full well what that look on his face must be: arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed, mouth drawn into that familiar pout that’s often mistaken for mere arrogance but, today, has a hint of jealousy.

“Am I?” you respond, your voice light with feigned innocence as you continue to scratch Caraxes. The dragon rumbles in pleasure, tilting his head like a hound angling for more affection. You can feel Daemon’s eyes drilling into your back, but you don’t let up, laughing softly as Caraxes leans closer, nearly knocking you sideways in his enthusiasm.

“Yes, you are,” Daemon steps closer, his dark cloak billowing slightly as he stands beside you, looking down at his dragon with mild disdain. “He’ll be insufferable now, demanding pets and scratches like some slobbering mutt.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you tease, glancing at Daemon. “You’re as spoiled as Caraxes is.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow at the comparison, though a glimmer of amusement tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Spoiled, am I?”

Caraxes’s head shifts, his large, amber eyes drifting from you to his rider as if sensing Daemon’s displeasure. He rumbles again, a deep sound that vibrates the rock beneath your feet, and Daemon gives his dragon a flat look.

“Not you too, you great overgrown lizard,” Daemon mutters. “I am your rider, remember? Mine, not hers.”

Caraxes blinks slowly, looking almost unimpressed. You swear, for a brief moment, that the dragon’s gaze shifts back to you with what could only be called affection. It’s as if he’s saying, “Oh, but she’s my favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at Daemon’s expression.

“I think he’s simply decided that I give better scratches,” you say, grinning.

Daemon arches a brow, eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and feigned affront. “Is that so?” He steps closer, nudging you out of the way so he can place a hand on Caraxes’s scales, patting his dragon’s neck with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You like me, don’t you, boy?” he asks, scratching roughly—too roughly, if Caraxes’s sudden flick of his tail and indignant huff are anything to go by.

“See?” you laugh, folding your arms as you watch with a smirk. “Gentleness, Daemon. Perhaps Caraxes prefers a softer touch.”

Daemon looks at you with a pointed glare. “Are you suggesting I’m not gentle?”

“Oh, Daemon, of course not,” you reply, lips twitching as you fight a smile. “You’re a Targaryen knight in shining armor.”

“Knight, indeed,” Daemon snorts, but there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes as he takes your bait. He shifts closer, one arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to him with a quick, possessive motion that sends a thrill down your spine. “Tell me, then. Should I be jealous of my own dragon? Or are you so starved for attention that you’ll take affection where you can get it?”

His words are laced with mock offense, but his hand holds you firmly, his thumb brushing against your waist in a way that belies his teasing tone.

“Jealous?” You raise a brow, feigning surprise. “Of Caraxes?”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Perhaps I ought to start breathing fire to gain your favor, then.”

You tilt your head, amused by the thought. “Imagine how well that would go at court,” you muse. “The Rogue Prince, reduced to petty flames for his sister’s affection.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound warm and rumbling, yet his hand on your waist tightens. “I’d reduce more than just my pride to flames if it meant keeping your attention on me.”

Caraxes huffs suddenly, a low rumble that sounds suspiciously like laughter, if a dragon could laugh. He lowers his head to nose at your shoulder, nudging Daemon’s hand away in the process as if to say, “She’s mine, actually.” You burst out laughing, leaning into Caraxes’s scaled cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin.

“Seems like he’s made his choice,” you say with a sly smile, watching Daemon’s face flicker between exasperation and humor.

“Oh, has he?” Daemon drawls, arching a brow as he watches you and Caraxes, clearly unimpressed. “Well, perhaps I should be jealous, then. I might have to fight him for your favor.”

You laugh, raising a hand to smooth over Daemon’s arm. “Poor Daemon,” you tease, your tone laced with affection. “Unseated by your own dragon.”

He rolls his eyes, though the warmth in his gaze softens his expression. “If Caraxes intends to keep you for himself, he should remember who his true rider is.”

Caraxes turns his head slightly, eyeing Daemon with a look that, impossibly, feels smug. You laugh again, patting the dragon’s neck in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Caraxes. There’s room enough for both of you.”

Daemon grunts, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer as he casts a sidelong glance at Caraxes. “You’re lucky I tolerate you, you red menace,” he mutters, though the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.

The dragon lets out a huff, almost as if he’s rolling his eyes, and settles his head back down, clearly satisfied with his small victory. And as you lean into Daemon’s side, his arm wrapped securely around you, you catch the slight smile on his lips. For all his talk, the Rogue Prince is more than happy to share your affections—even if it means indulging in a rivalry with his own dragon.

[artmsdoll]

hei's &team recs ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

: ̗̀➛ pls note that i do bias maki, jo, & euijoo so theres probably more of them but i love all the members lots and if u have any recs 4 me pls send them my way :3

: ̗̀➛ u can also find more recs that i reblogged on #heis recs recs⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ when im too lazy to add them here lol

(also also not all of these are full fics, some r just rambles or thoughts but theyre still yum:3)

✩ = smut ★ = not smut (might still be suggestive)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ot9 / multiple members

nsfw thoughts based on birth charts - 000-dotz ✩

~340 words per member, (all members but maki)

members accidentally touching u boobs when ur not wearing a bra (hyung line) - starrihan ★

~500-700 words per member, title is pretty self explanatory lol

members accidentally touching u boobs when ur not wearing a bra (maknae line) - starrihan ★

~500-700 words per member, pt two of this one ↑

fiirst time w/ members - nichoswrld ✩

~150 words per member, (all members but 05z + maki) these r so yum

thoughts abt shower sex - ssongsboo ✩

~100 words per member, (hyung line ft yuma)

misc nsfw thoughts - 1204love  ✩

~100 words per member, (all members but maki)

thoughts abt dry humping maki + 3 way w/ fuma & kei + taki munch + yuma breeding u + model reader + fashion designer nico = munch - kireilien  ✩

~740 words, SO MANY GOOD THOUGHTS IN ONE POST

oral w/ all of the teamies - multifandom fantasies ✩

~300 words per member, receiving + giving

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ euijoo

thoughts abt jujus pretty hands - ssongsboo ✩

~380 words, euijoo fingers u w/ his pretty hands

juno - ninisdollies ✩

~4600 words, basically ur so in love with ur bf and he fucks u so good

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fuma

fuma thighs+ u being his pocket pussy - kirelien ✩

~550 words, fuma size kink huehuehue

fumas bsf asking him to take her virginity - starrihan ✩

~1800 words, title is pretty self explanatory:p

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ kei

experience - ninisdollies ✩

~4000 words, bsf kei teaches inexperienced reader a thing or two abt bjs... hands on… (so good u have 2 read this)

expert - ninisdollies ✩

~2200 words, sequel of this one ↑ but kei also returns the favor (iykwim)

athlete k titfucks u - starrihan ✩

~600 words, basically athlete k is obsessed w/ ur tits and he titfucks in the bathroom

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nico

de-stressing - gunilsno1 ✩

~1080 words, nicholas x f!reader, rough sex w/ nico after he has a rough day

love looks pretty on u - nicholasluvbot ★

~850 words, nico is grumpy in the morning but not when u wake him up (this one is saurrr cute)

nasty girl - byshens ✩

~1700 words

publicity stunt - wenosgf ★✩

16 chapters, ex friends to lovers, reader is an idol, 16 chapters of good writing yalll

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ yuma

yuma is obsessed w/ his bratty cheerleader gf - ninisdollie ✩

~1700 words, yuma is a football player reader is a little bratty + they fuck😛

soaked - ninisdollie ✩

~1400 words, hot tub sex on family vacationnnn

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ jo

vcard loss w/ jo - starrihan ✩

~1500 words, jo being literally the sweetest while fucking u for the first time + giving u the best aftercare ever

another vcard loss w/ jo but on both parts - serapharua ✩

~1500 words, most wholesome smut ff ever, soft dom!jo + reader having their first time tgt

thoughts abt jo having rly cold hands and #putting them in u😛 -m1ssluvyoobot ✩

~235 words, pretty self explanatory hehe i 🫶 this writing

mutual masturbation - euijoosorangeslice ✩

~450 words

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ harua

idol!reader fucks rua in bathroom - camstqr ✩

~2300 words, quickie in the bathroom before a stage😛

hot makeout sesh w/ assertive harua - ejudollz ★

~360 words, i ❤️ dom!rua

face fucking backstage - leechqnsgirl ✩

~500 words, dom!rua fucks u backstage cause ur so hot

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ taki

hard thoughts (sub!taki) - starrihan ✩

~850 words

shower sex thoughts - ejudollz ✩

~300 words

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ maki

!!! if ur looking for the bestest nsfw maki content on here i would recommend kireiliens acc all her maki works are tooooo good (but here are some of my favs from her + others)

maki taking ur first time vvv seriously - kireilien ✩

~670 words, maki being the most caring ever, traffic light system:p

thoughts on kissing maki - turnipfizzle ★

~300 words, so many cute thoughts abt kissing him!!

sex in the studiooo - dolliuv ✩

~1050 words, unprotected sex in the studio!!

take it slow - kireilien ✩

~900 words, soft!dom maki + protected sex + yalls first time tgt as a couple

secret relationship as a staff member w/ maki! (w/ texts) - kireilien ✩

~3800 words, texts + writing + smut (such a good read)

just the tip - jsbluu ✩

~1100 words, he says it's just gonna be the tip, but all men do is lie - jsbluu

[jtl-fics]

I reblogged it so i wouldn’t lose it before i went on my lunch break!!

I love him! So so so much!

Thank you for this adorable lil pie of anxiety! Don’t know how someone who could be drawn this cutely could become invisible to all but Mantis Shrimp.

I couldn’t resist but draw @jtl-fics’s FF Smith, an anxiety pie :>

It says «тревожный пирожок», “anxiety pie” in russian! It’s a real and useful phrase in russian — a cute way to address your anxious friends

And eggs with leek, apple jam, meat and cabbage (which is inside this particular pie as well as anxiety) are all traditional fillings for russian pies :3

(My mom says that cabbage and apple are the safest to buy — who knows what meat are they putting here. Wise choice for your tummy, Smithy!)

[quixotical-lymbo]

Hi I really love your transformers one fics and I was hoping if you could write a fic about B-127 meeting a predacon like dragon fem s/o in the surface while searching for the metrix with his friends, I would love that 😊

Pairing: B-127/Bee x fem!predacon!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: B-127 meets an unlikely stranger, and you meet an odd group of bots for the first time in a long time. Warnings/Tags:  first meetings, reader has a bad time picking up social cues, hehe B-127 is silly, has no concept of personal space, but he's also up in ur grill, size difference, D-16, Orion, and Elita are like 'damn not another one ffs'.  A/N: I'mma not put spoilers anymore since I feel like everyone has watched TFO at this point. Ty for the love!! Word Count: 800+ words 

"Uhh, guys what is that?" 

"What is what-" 

A loud crash made the group of four turn towards one of the dilapidated structures. A gaping hole could be seen in the roof as dust rose from the damaged part. 

"....we should go," Elita muttered as she began inching away while not taking her optics off of the building. D-16 nodded silently and followed the pink femme's lead. Orion and Bee, however, wanted to investigate. 

"Pax." A warning hiss came from Elita as she noticed the hesitancy from the two. "Let's go." 

"Yeahhh, I'm with Elita on this one," Bee began turning around when Orion stepped toward the building instead. 

"I just wanna get another look." Orion spoke as he walked toward the entrance of the building. He peered inside the darkness and leaned forward, nothing seemed to be moving or inside the structure. After a few more nanoklicks had passed, Orion hummed and backed away.  

Only something big popped out and tackled him to the ground. 

Orion screamed as well as the B-127. 

"Orion!" D-16 was quick to act and rushed over to his friend. Elita groaned and ran after D-16 to aid in saving Orion. 

"It's eating his face! It's eating his face!" Bee shrieked as he pointed at the weird beast thing on top of Orion. It wasn't that big, just a few sizes bigger than Orion and the more Orion examined the beast on him the more he recognized what it was. Seeing that Orion wasn't struggling anymore, the beast also stopped snapping it's maw at him.

"Hehe!" A strange laugh came from the beast as it began transforming. Before anyone knew it, a femme appeared where the beast was and sat on Orion. 

"You lot sure are funny-!" You didn't have time to introduce yourself before two bodies slammed into yours. You blinked and glanced down at the bots who were attempting to..shove you off? 

"Get off of him!" The silver mech demanded. 

"Oh! Yeah, sorry, sometimes I forget I'm stronger than most bots, but then again I haven't seen any bot for a long, longggg time so maybe I just haven't had any strong bot to test my strength against and-" 

"JUST GET OFF." 

"Okay! Okay! Geez," You raised your servos up and got off of their friend. "Better?" 

"B-better," Orion hadn't realized he was out of breath as he sat up and wheezed. "You're…a predacon?" 

"What now?" 

"A predacon," Elita's optics widened as she took in your form. "I thought…no, weren't they supposed to be dead?" 

"Who said that? I'm alive and well, thank you very much," You crossed your arms and huffed. 

"Wait, what's a predacon, guys? It sounds cool," Bee piped up as he bounced over to you. "You're like…really big and grrrr rahhh! What's that about?? What's your designation? Mine is B-127 but I like to call myself, b a d a s s a t r o n. Do you live here? How long have you been here? Hey, why are you living in this…lovely place? Hey, are you single-?" 

You sat there stunned as the barrage of questions assaulted your processor too quickly for you to even remember the first one. You turned your helm to look at the trio who only shrugged. 

"Uh, yes?" 

The yellow mech let out a joyous laugh that was infectious, your previous confusion melted away as you leaned down to examine B-127 or 'Badassatron.' 

"You're funny, I like it." You poked a claw at Bee's helm before picking at his arm. 

"Well, you're gonna like me more since…being funny is my whole thing," Bee didn't seem to mind your touchy-feelyness and even went as far as to poke and prod at you too. 

"Excuse me, sorry for interrupting the happy couple," Elita rose her voice. "But I think we have somewhere to be, let's go." 

"Oh! Right…you can come with us!" 

"What?" 

"I don't…"

"Why not?" Orion shrugged. Elita gave Orion a hard stare and D-16 just gave in with a loop-sided smile. 

"Eeeee! It's official!" Bee and you cheered as the two of you rushed ahead of the group. 

"...I mean, at least they'll balance each other out." 

"Yeah, now I won't have to entertain 'badassatron' anymore." Elita sighed but a small grin formed on her dermas. 

"I think they're kind of cute?" 

"Yeah, yeah, haul some aft, cupid." D-16 shoved Orion's arm and trailed after the chattering duo. Elita and Orion followed. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. like my writing? consider buying me a kofi :)

honeycomb banner(s) by @thecutestgrotto!!

[kuqisaki]

what's wrong with him? you... get away from her! benedikta! ill kill you, rosfield!

for @radagone 🧡

[jtl-fics]

Original Persona 4 Comic by Hiimdaisy (they go by a different handle now)

This was my guiding light for Fluent Freshman ordering his ice cream.

[tribalauthor]

THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff)

A/N: this is my first ever fanfiction. i started it just for fun but i wrote a couple chapters and let's see how it goes 😈

⚠️ warnings ⚠️ age difference (12 years), smut in some parts and probably sth else but i will put warnings on the parts when needed

summary: life circumstances force the niece of Paul Heyman - Sophia to become a temporary wise woman for the Tribal Chief Roman Reigns. Will that special counselling turn into something more?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

[crazydeershark]

Broken souls

Part 1.

Jason Todd x Civilian!Fem reader

Both Jason and reader are 15 to 16 here.

Summary: How you met Jason, your life before his death. Your bond and connection.

Warnings: blood.

A/n: Hi, I’ve never wrote ff before so please ignore any possible mistakes, remember its just fiction and enjoy!

It was a usual school night. You had a ton of homework, laying on your bed, text books spread around you. Your little bed lamp emanating a soft warm glow.

Yes, it was past your “bed time”, as if that mattered. Thankfully, your parents were gone on a date. You weren’t a child anymore. Who cared if you were gonna get that stupid F? You were far too tired to study more.

Until- *bang*. A loud, violent crash echoed trough your window.

Shit shit shit.

Yes, Gotham was a dangerous city, with at least 10 break ins, deaths or crimes being on the news every night. Was it some sort of robber? Killer? Rapist?

Silence. Deadly silence.

You quickly tip toed out of your room, opening your kitchen drawer, grabbing the biggest knife you could find. Phone in hand, already dialling 911. Sweaty hands shaking. You get left alone for one night and this is what happens?!

You were pretty sure you heard your window slide up. No. Maybe it was just a bird or something that crashed against your window. You were not delusional. Right? You were on the 4th flour after all.

Murders can climb.

You were panicking.

Suddenly, you heard a creak. Your door. Opening.

“Stay back! Im calling the police!” You yelled, voice trembling in fear. Was this genuinely it? Were you gonna die? Just like that?

“It’s okay! Im not gonna do you any harm!” You heard a boy-ish voice. He did sound pretty young.

“What do you want?!”

“Will you stop screaming?!”

��You’re screaming too!”

Silence, again. What the heck was going on?

“Okay, I’m going to open the door now. Don’t freak out or whatever.”

You held you knife in front of the door regardless.

Until you saw him. Red suit. Green shorts. The yellow “R” on his chest. Domino mask covering his eyes. Robin!

“Oh my god! Robin?!”

“And you’re back to yelling. Look, I-“

“Sorry.” You quickly apologized. “ I know you! I saw you on the news! You work with Batman!” You didn’t care if you were yelling. You couldnt keep your excitement in.

“You solved that case! With Two-Face! I heard he’s in Arkham Asylum now..”, you wouldn’t stop talking. “…you’re bleeding!” You pointed to his arm and thigh. Severe injures, blood dripping to your floor.

“Yeah, been trying to tell you ‘bout that.”

He explained how some guys were chasing him, his arm and leg got injured so he had to hide somewhere. Something about how he was trying to land on the roof and crashed into your apartment. Accidentally, of course.

After that, you slowly got used to his regular visits. At first, he came to thank you for helping him with his wounds, bringing you chocolates. You found that sweet.

Then he just kept coming, making excuses about how “he was tired,” or “he couldn’t find Batman”. It was hilarious.

You knew the truth, but you didn’t mind his visits after all. He was sweet, caring, and extremely funny. You liked that about him.

He was handsome too. Wavy, brunette locks falling over his forehead. His taller figure towering over you, and a smile he could barely hold in when he was around you.

You admired his skills, even if you found his suit “funny-looking”. (That actually offended him.)

You got close over time. He really liked you. Your smile, your jokes. You were perfect in his eyes. It was more than just a teenage crush to him. No one had ever listened to him or treated him like you did.

He took you up on rooftops, helped you sneak out. You saw how damaged yet beautiful Gotham was at night. Crime-ridden and corrupt, yet stunning.

His visits kept on going for a year and a half. Batman did find out, eventually. But he didn’t get the chance to speak with Robin.

One night, he showed up with flowers. Beautiful pink lilies. You loved them, but there was something else he had to tell you.

“Listen, I like you.” You listened closely, noticing the way his ears turned pink. “Im going on a mission, with Batman.”

“And… I really want to tell you who I am, sorry- I’m not the best at this-“

He was quickly silenced by a peck on the lips. You liked him too. You loved him.

His cheeks turned fully red that time.

You had to stay humble, because you were a tomato yourself.

Jason. His name was Jason. It suited him, you couldn’t explain it, but it did. He couldn’t wait to tell you, it was typical Robin.

He told you the mission would take two weeks, you listened patiently. He was going to come see you, reveal his identity. He promissed.

And you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Two weeks passed. Slowly, but they passed.

Then three weeks,

A month,

Two months,

Robin was nowhere to be seen, or found. Batman returned with no sight of him.

You were left confused, and most of all broken. Did he return and not tell you? Where was he? Was this all some sort of sick joke?

No. It couldn’t be. He was Robin, your friend, your Robin.

The worst part of it, you had no one to talk to.

No one, at all. Your parents would have thought you wanted attention. Your friends would’ve said you were making it all up.

No one would have ever believed you.

And that hurt. It was the type of hurt you had never experienced, like someone took a sharp blade and sliced your heard in pieces.

You never got over it. You never stopped searching.

Weeks had turned into months. Months had turned into years.

All you could do was..move on, and wonder if any of it was ever real. Or if you were just imagining it.

A/n: alrrr what do y’all think?? I hope this is good enough. Also if you noticed grammar mistakes please point them out! English isn’t my first language!

[cassiesc0rner]

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐

𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎

I’m Cassandra, 21 years old and I’m a multi fan :D I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, but I started writing fanfiction when I was 16, without ever publishing anything. I love music (literally almost every genre), Lana Del Rey, and being creative in any way whether it’s drawing or writing :3

𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐

I don’t really take requests right now since I’m still not finished with my current ff, and I’m just on here to write what’s going through my head whenever I find the time😶

but my asks and my dm’s are always open and I love interacting with you guys so don’t be shy, I’m an open book!! ♡

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜

Nate Jacobs - Impurities:

part I, part II, part III, part IV, part V, part VI, part VII, part VIII

[porcelain-winter-doll]

WEDDING VOWS WITH MATT STURNIOLO

in this ff you are saying your wedding vows with matt sturniolo

Wedding vows with matt sturniolo ❤

ᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔ THIRD PERSONᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔᰔ

It was a special day for both matt and y/n. After 15 years of being friends and being lovers they were stepping on a new page on their life.

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"Matt Bernard sturniolo" i giggled when matt rolled his eyes when i mentioned his middle name which also made the crowd laugh

" i have loved you for 15 years, 18 days, 19 hours and 7 minutes of my life. I love you with my whole heart with a passion that can't be expressed in words, only in kisses, glances, and years of adventure by your side." Matt teared up while listening to my vows and smiling at me

Some tears were spilling out of my eyes as i hold the piece of paper " i had a paper that had all of what was supposed to be my wedding vows. And we were 16 when you asked me to be your girlfriend. You told me i was the one who would you marry and have a family with, i didn't believe you since we were just lousy teenagers that year. But i quickly ran home to write a wedding vow. " matt chuckled and said " i never told you to write one" and i looked at him mad playfully

" as i was saying. I sat there for an hour trying to write a wedding vow, and so i finally wrote one and i taped it to my journal" the crowd was quiet but in a comforting way " i remember clearly i was scared to cry in our wedding due to a podcast you made w your brothers " matt nick and chris laughed at that " but look at you now crying on our wedding " matt playfully pushed me on my shoulder "Today I say, "I do" but to me that means, "I will." I will take your hand and stand by your side in the good and the bad. I dedicate myself to your happiness, success, and smile. I will love you forever. I promise to be your honest, faithful, and loving wife for the rest of my days." Matt looked at me as if he was looking at a goddess And smiled at me

I took a breath and said the following vows "I y/n l/n take you matt sturniolo to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow"

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Y/n my wife finished with her vows so it was my turn " y/n m/n l/n" y/n looked at me when i mentioned her last name " oh! My bad sweetheart its Y/n STURNIOLO now. " i quickly looked at the crowd which was my family and friends " ITS Y/N STURNIOLO NOW!" I told them and they laughed i saw chris dying out of laughter.

I looked at my wife again she has red lips and rosy cheeks which suited her " y/n, i used to despise you when we were 10 if you remember that" y/n looked at me and laughed " i do remember " she chuckled " only nick, chris, Nate and Justin knew about that, my mom kept shipping me with her actually which made me hate her the more " i confessed and nick shouted " NOW YOU'RE MARRYING HER" which made everyone laugh

" i never thought of marrying you until we were 16. I remember you ran into the rain to your house and you never told me why until the next month." I laughed at y/n "you told me you wrote a wedding vow for our wedding which made me think of marrying you even more. " i teared up a little bit while holding her hand

" "There is no remedy for love," says Thoreau, "but to love more". Today and forever, I will follow his advice and seek my remedy in your arms. I loved you since we were 15. I dated alot of girls back in my day but non of them became my girlfriend except for one" i looked at her with love in my eyes " and it was you, sweetheart" i saw her teared up and i wiped her tears with my thumb

"You are my every dream come true, and I can't wait for the reality we get to build together. I cant live in world without you y/n. actually unlike you i memorized my vow since i was 21 which was kind of weird considering i told my fans that i didn't want a big ass wedding" she playfully hit my shoulder " language! "

" i hope i never lose you, i hope it never ends.and I actually used to believe love was black and white. Until you came into my life. You made me believe in love and i really love you my love."

" i always write your name with my last name seeing how it looks together. It always had a ring for me" i looked at the crowd " it didn't suit " and i looked at her again while the crowd looked at us " as of today we will start a new together not as friends not as bestfriends not as lovers not as finances but as husband and wife. As mr and mrs sturniolo " i looked at her again i admired her beautiful features

I took a breath and said my vows "I matt sturniolo take you y/n l/n to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow" i smiled at her and i teared up

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I heard the priest say kiss the bride. Matt was about to kiss me when the priest said something again " you both have to hold your kiss for 5 second " i looked at him and he looks at me and kissed my lips

I felt like it was just me and matt in the place. No one else. It felt fantastic i didn't know why but this kiss was something else for us. We always kissed before but this. This felt something. I knew for a fact that he was always the love of my life and my soulmate.

" okay enough!!" We heard chris say with a sassy tone and we both laugh.

We just know this new chapter wont always be rainbows and unicorns and i would always love him until my death.

4000+ FUCKING WORDSS... ANYWAYS DOES ANYONE WANNA SEE A PART 2 OF THEIR HONEYMOON??? 😭😭😭 I MIGHT RECONSIDER 😏😏😏😏

masterlist

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: sins

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

The cold air bites at his face as Jaime Lannister dismounts his horse, his armor catching the pale Northern sunlight. Around him, the bustling retinue of the royal procession begins to settle, attendants scattering to prepare for the King’s arrival. Yet, as his gaze sweeps across the courtyard of Winterfell, Jaime’s mind is far from the cold, far from his duties, and even far from Cersei.

You stand by your family, a quiet and poised figure amidst the wolves. Your dark cloak, trimmed with fur, clings to your shoulders, framing the soft lines of your face. Your hair glints in the light, a rich hue reminiscent of autumn leaves, and Jaime’s breath catches in his throat. There’s something about the way you hold yourself, the proud tilt of your chin, the quiet intensity in your eyes as you watch the King approach your father.

For a man who had once thought himself incapable of wanting anything beyond what he already had, this moment feels like a betrayal of everything he believed about himself.

He shouldn’t look at you, yet he does. He shouldn’t think about you, yet he knows, already, that he will.

The evening feast is lively, as all gatherings in Winterfell tend to be. The great hall is warm with roaring fires, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Jaime sits among the knights of the Kingsguard, a golden lion among his brothers in white, but his eyes stray across the room to where you sit at the high table with your family.

You laugh at something Robb whispers to you, your smile lighting up your face. It’s not a smile meant for him, but gods, how he wishes it were. He tells himself it’s a passing fancy, that you’re nothing more than a pretty distraction in a dreary northern hall. Yet, when your gaze briefly flicks his way—entirely by chance—his heart jolts. You look away almost instantly, oblivious, but it’s enough to set his blood aflame.

“You’re staring, brother.” Tyrion’s voice interrupts his thoughts, sharp and laced with amusement. The younger Lannister leans back in his chair, his mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief as he follows Jaime’s gaze. “And at the Stark girl, no less. A dangerous game, wouldn’t you say?”

Jaime tears his eyes away from you, scowling at Tyrion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Tyrion replies with mock innocence. “But if you did, you might consider that our dear queen wouldn’t take kindly to your… wandering attentions. Nor, I suspect, would her father. And let’s not even think about Lord Stark. I hear he has a way of parting men’s heads from their shoulders.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. He knows Tyrion is right, of course. Whatever this strange, sudden longing is, it’s not something he can act on. Yet, as he glances back at you, he finds himself wondering what it would take to make you look at him the way you look at your brother.

Later, as the hall begins to empty and the fires burn low, Jaime finds himself wandering the courtyard. He tells himself it’s for the fresh air, but deep down, he knows better. The truth finds him soon enough when he sees you there, standing by the kennels with your direwolf pup at your side. The creature is a pale, ghostly thing, its eyes sharp and intelligent as it watches him approach.

“Ser Jaime,” you greet him politely, your voice soft but steady. There’s no fear in your tone, only curiosity. “What brings you outside? The warmth of the hall doesn’t suit you?”

He smiles, a practiced, easy expression that hides the turmoil beneath. “Perhaps I needed a break from the noise. The North has a way of making a man appreciate silence.”

You nod, stroking the wolf’s fur absentmindedly. “Winterfell is quieter than King’s Landing, I imagine. Though I’ve never been.”

The way you say it, with a hint of longing, makes him pause. “You’ve never been to the capital?”

You shake your head. “No. My father prefers to keep us here, close to home. My mother says the South isn’t meant for wolves.”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, though he can’t help but think how wrong that is. You would shine in the South, your beauty and grace unmatched by any courtier or queen. The thought of you in the Red Keep—so near, yet so far—sends an ache through him.

You glance at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Do you miss it? The South, I mean.”

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. Does he miss the South? The warm sun, the endless intrigue, the weight of his family’s expectations? “Sometimes,” he admits. “But there are things worth appreciating in the North.”

It’s a simple statement, but the way his eyes linger on you as he says it betrays his meaning. You tilt your head slightly, studying him, but before you can respond, the direwolf lets out a low growl, breaking the moment.

Jaime chuckles, taking a cautious step back. “It seems your wolf doesn’t trust me.”

“Winter is protective,” you reply, patting the pup’s head. “But he’ll come around.”

Jaime isn’t so sure. The wolf isn’t the only one he’ll have to win over, and he knows it. Yet, as he watches you disappear back into the warmth of the castle, he can’t help but think that you might be worth the risk.

The next morning, Jaime finds himself once again in Winterfell’s training yard. The clang of swords fills the crisp northern air, accompanied by shouts from young men sparring under the watchful eyes of Jory Cassel. Jaime usually enjoys watching such displays, though they pale in comparison to his own skill with a blade. Today, however, his attention is elsewhere.

You stand on the edge of the yard, wrapped in a dark cloak to ward off the morning chill. Winter, your direwolf, sits dutifully at your side, her fur gleaming in the pale sunlight. Jaime notices the way your gloved hand absently strokes the wolf’s head as you observe your younger brothers practice with wooden swords. There’s a faint smile on your lips, one of quiet pride, and it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

For the hundredth time since his arrival, Jaime curses himself for this weakness. You are a Stark, born and bred, and your father would sooner see him dead than allow him to so much as glance your way. Yet his gaze strays to you regardless, drawn like a moth to flame.

“Are you going to keep staring, or will you finally say something?” The voice belongs to Jon Snow, who stands a few paces away with his sword in hand. His tone is quiet, but his grey eyes are sharp, a touch of irritation flickering behind them.

Jaime straightens, masking his surprise with a smirk. “Staring? I don’t know what you mean.”

Jon’s lips press into a thin line. “You’ve been looking at my sister since you arrived.”

At that, Jaime’s smirk falters. He glances toward you, but you’re still focused on the sparring match, oblivious to the conversation. Winter, however, seems to sense the tension and looks toward him, wolf's icy blue eyes meeting his.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Jaime says smoothly, though his pulse quickens. “Your sister is a lovely young lady, but I assure you, I have no improper intentions.”

Jon’s expression darkens. “You’re a Lannister. Everything about you is improper.”

The accusation stings, though Jaime hides it well. He steps closer, lowering his voice so only Jon can hear. “Careful, Snow. You might have Stark blood in your veins, but you’re still a bastard. Don’t presume to lecture me on propriety.”

Jon bristles, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, Jaime wonders if the boy will strike him. Instead, Jon takes a measured breath and steps back, his gaze still burning with suspicion.

“Stay away from her,” he says simply before walking back toward the training yard. Jaime watches him go, his jaw tight.

The day drags on, and Jaime finds himself more restless than ever. Every time he catches a glimpse of you—walking with Sansa in the godswood, speaking quietly with Maester Luwin, laughing softly at something Arya said—his resolve weakens. By the time the evening feast begins, he’s resigned himself to another torturous night of stolen glances and unspoken desires.

The great hall is alive with laughter and conversation when Jaime enters, though he barely hears it. His eyes immediately seek you out, finding you seated beside your mother near the high table. You look radiant, even in the simple Stark colors, your hair falling in loose waves over your shoulders. He forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the goblet in front of him.

“Still pining, are we?” Tyrion’s voice cuts through his thoughts, low and amused. The younger Lannister has appeared beside him, a knowing smile on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaime replies, his tone clipped.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Tyrion says, pouring himself a generous helping of wine. “You’ve been staring at her as if she’s the Maiden herself come to life. It’s quite unlike you.”

Jaime glares at him. “Drop it, Tyrion.”

“Gladly,” Tyrion says, raising his goblet in mock surrender. “But you might want to be more careful. The Starks are an observant lot, and I doubt they’ll take kindly to a Lannister coveting their eldest daughter.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as Tyrion saunters away. He risks another glance at you, only to find your brother Jon watching him from across the hall. The boy’s expression is unreadable, but the weight of his scrutiny is unmistakable.

Later that night, Jaime finds himself wandering the courtyard again. The cold air bites at his skin, yet it does little to extinguish the fire raging within him. He curses himself under his breath, berating his foolishness. How could he allow his thoughts, his eyes, and now even his heart to betray him? A Stark of all people—a wolf, untouchable and pure in her Northern pride.

He’s so lost in his turmoil that he doesn’t notice your presence until Winter’s soft growl cuts through the silence. He looks up sharply, finding you only a few feet away, the wolf standing protectively at your side. The moonlight catches in your hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around you, and Jaime feels his chest tighten.

“Ser Jaime,” you greet him, your voice soft yet steady. There’s a hint of curiosity in your tone, as if you’re surprised to see him here.

Jaime straightens, his heart stuttering at the sound of your voice. He bows slightly, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “Lady Y/N,” he replies, his voice smooth despite the turmoil within. “Out for a stroll?”

You nod, your breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. “I could ask the same of you, Ser Jaime. Though I didn’t think knights of the Kingsguard wandered alone at night.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound hollow to his own ears. “Even knights need a moment of quiet now and then,” he says, his hand tucked discreetly behind his back. “The North, for all its chill, does have its charms.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him as Winter’s piercing gaze mirrors your own. “And what charms would those be?” you ask, your tone light, but your eyes keen.

Jaime hesitates, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. The truth lingers on the edge of his tongue—that it’s you, your presence, the way you make the world feel brighter even in the dead of winter. But he swallows the words, masking his emotions as he always has.

“The stars, perhaps,” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the clear night sky. “King’s Landing rarely grants us such a view.”

You glance upward, and for a moment, your expression softens. “They are beautiful,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “The North feels closer to the heavens.”

Jaime watches you, his eyes tracing the curve of your profile. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, fearing that his voice will betray the yearning he’s so desperately trying to suppress.

After a moment, you glance back at him, your expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime,” you say simply, a polite smile gracing your lips. There’s no hesitation as you turn and begin walking back toward the castle, Winter padding silently at your side.

Jaime doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure. The ache in his chest grows heavier with every step you take, but he remains rooted in place, unwilling to call after you. He knows this desire is foolish—impossible, even—but gods help him, he can’t seem to let it go.

As the shadows swallow you whole, Jaime exhales slowly, the cold air burning his lungs. He turns back toward the castle, his mind a tangled mess of longing and guilt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Tyrion’s voice again, mocking him for his weakness, warning him of the consequences. And yet, for the first time in his life, Jaime finds himself wanting something he can never have, and he’s not sure he can stop.

The air inside the old tower is thick and stifling despite the chill that permeates Winterfell. Jaime paces restlessly, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone walls. His white cloak feels heavy, a constant reminder of the weight he carries—not just from his duty but from the turmoil in his heart. The torchlight casts specters across the room, but none darker than those in his thoughts.

Behind him, Cersei leans against the table, her arms crossed, her green eyes fixed on him with a mixture of irritation and suspicion. She looks as regal and dangerous as ever, her beauty as dangerous as a dagger. But tonight, it does nothing to soothe him. If anything, her presence feels suffocating.

“You’ve been different,” she says finally, her voice low and accusing. “Distant. Distracted. You barely look at me, Jaime.”

He stops pacing, turning to face her. “We’re in the North, Cersei. It’s not exactly a place for… indulgences.” His words come out clipped, and even as he says them, he knows she won’t accept them.

Cersei’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve known you all my life, Jaime. I know when your mind is elsewhere.” She steps closer, her tone softening, though the edge remains. “Is it that Stark girl? The one you keep staring at when you think no one notices?”

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, a flush of guilt and anger rising to his face. “Leave her out of this.”

Her laugh is cold and sharp, like the crack of ice. “Oh, how noble of you. Is that what this is, then? You’ve decided to play the gallant knight now? To pine for some Northern wolf pup who’d sooner slit your throat than look at you twice?”

“Enough, Cersei,” Jaime snaps, his voice harsher than he intended. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she interrupts, stepping closer until they’re nearly face to face. Her voice drops to a venomous whisper. “You’re mine, Jaime. You’ve always been mine. And now, in this frozen wasteland, you’re letting your mind wander to some girl who wouldn’t even know what to do with you.”

He exhales sharply, taking a step back. “This isn’t about her. It’s about us. About what we’ve become.” He gestures between them. “Do you even remember who we were before all this? Before the lies, the secrets?”

Cersei’s face twists in fury. “Don’t you dare lecture me about lies. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. For our family. And now you’re standing here, acting like you’re above it all.”

Jaime shakes his head, his voice dropping. “I’m tired, Cersei. Tired of living like this. Of hiding. Of lying to myself.”

For a moment, there’s silence between them, broken only by the distant howl of the wind outside. Then Cersei steps forward, her hands reaching for him, her expression softening into something almost pleading.

“We don’t have to lie, Jaime,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against his chest. “Not here. Not now. It’s just us.”

But as her hands move to pull him closer, Jaime steps back, gently but firmly pushing her away. The rejection is immediate and cutting, and he sees the fury ignite in her eyes.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice firm. “Not tonight, Cersei.”

Her face hardens, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You’re a fool if you think you can walk away from this. From me.”

Before Jaime can respond, a faint noise catches his attention—a soft creak from above. His eyes dart to the window, and there he sees it: a boy, perched precariously on the ledge, his wide eyes staring down at them.

“Bran Stark,” Jaime mutters under his breath, realization hitting him like a blow.

Cersei follows his gaze, her expression darkening with panic. “He heard us,” she whispers, her voice frantic. “He’ll tell.”

Jaime feels his heart race, a thousand thoughts colliding in his mind. If the boy overheard their argument, their secret could unravel everything—their lives, their children, their fragile hold on power. He takes a step toward the window, his movements measured.

The boy’s gaze flicks between them, fear etched across his young face. “I didn’t see anything,” Bran stammers, his voice shaking. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jaime’s chest tightens. He knows the boy is lying. He would run straight to his father, to the honorable Eddard Stark, and the consequences would be disastrous.

“Jaime,” Cersei hisses, her voice sharp and urgent. “You have to do something.”

He looks back at her, then at Bran. His mind feels like it’s splintering in two, but deep down, he knows what must be done. Slowly, he moves closer to the window, his expression unreadable.

“The things I do for love,” he murmurs, the words bitter on his tongue.

Before Bran can react, Jaime reaches out, his hand striking with calculated force. The boy lets out a startled cry as he loses his balance, tumbling backward out the window and into the void below.

For a moment, there’s silence. Jaime stands frozen, his heart pounding as he stares at the empty window. Cersei’s breathing is heavy behind him, her hand clutching the table for support.

“It had to be done,” she says finally, her voice shaky but resolute.

Jaime doesn’t respond. He feels hollow, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a mountain. As he turns away from the window, he catches his reflection in the light—the face of a man who has just crossed another line he swore he never would.

The days after Bran Stark’s fall are cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the whispers of servants and the occasional sob echoing through Winterfell’s halls. Jaime feels the weight of it everywhere he goes. He had known the boy’s fall would ripple through the Stark family like a shockwave, but seeing the grief firsthand is something else entirely.

He avoids the godswood, where Lord Stark retreats daily, his shoulders heavy with unspoken blame. He avoids the Great Hall, where the Starks’ laughter has been replaced with quiet murmurs and somber meals. But he cannot avoid you—not when every time he catches a glimpse of you, his chest tightens with guilt.

You are a ghost of yourself now, a shadow lingering by Bran’s chambers. You rarely leave his side, seated by his bed with your mother, Lady Catelyn, as the boy lies in his endless sleep. The firelight from his room casts flickering shadows across your face, accentuating the hollowness in your eyes, the pallor of your cheeks. Jaime has never seen you like this, and it tears at something inside him.

On the third day, Jaime makes a decision he knows he shouldn’t. He tells himself it’s for appearances, to offer his condolences like any dutiful guest, but deep down, he knows it’s more selfish than that. He hopes, foolishly, that speaking to you—seeing you—might ease the gnawing guilt clawing at his chest.

He climbs the tower steps slowly, each creak of the stone beneath his boots echoing louder in his ears. When he reaches Bran’s chamber, the door is ajar, allowing him a glimpse of the scene within.

Catelyn sits closest to the bed, her face pale and drawn, her hand gripping Bran’s small, lifeless fingers. Beside her, you sit silent and still, your gaze fixed on the boy’s face. Winter and Summer curled at your feet, their fur dull in the dim light. There is something devastating about the stillness of it all, as though the grief in the room has frozen time itself.

Jaime clears his throat softly, stepping into the doorway. “Lady Stark,” he says, his voice measured, “Lady Y/N. I wanted to offer my condolences.”

Catelyn looks up abruptly, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and suspicion. You, however, don’t move. You don’t even glance in his direction, as if his presence isn’t worth acknowledging. It’s as though you know, and the thought sends a jolt of unease through him.

Catelyn rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she steps toward him. She doesn’t bow, doesn’t offer him the courtesy one might expect toward a knight of the Kingsguard. Instead, she crosses her arms, her voice cold as the northern winds.

“Your words are noted, Ser Jaime,” she says, her tone sharp enough to cut. “But they will not wake my son.”

Jaime swallows, keeping his composure. “I understand. I only wished to—”

“To what?” she interrupts, her voice rising slightly. “Ease your conscience? You’ve done nothing for this family but bring conflict and mistrust. My son lays in that bed, and you think your words will bring us comfort?”

Jaime doesn’t flinch, though her words land like blows. He glances past her to you, still seated by the bed, your expression blank as if you haven’t even heard him. His chest tightens further.

“I only wanted to offer my sympathies,” he says quietly. “For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth nothing,” Catelyn says firmly, her eyes blazing. She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You are a Lannister, and I would have you far from my family’s grief. Leave this room, Ser Jaime, and don’t come back.”

Jaime hesitates for a moment, his pride and guilt warring within him. Finally, he nods, stepping back into the hallway. Before the door closes, he allows himself one last glance at you, but you don’t even look up. If anything, your stillness feels more damning than Catelyn’s fury.

He retreats to his chambers, the cold stone walls offering no solace. The memory of your grief and your mother’s anger churns in his mind, mixing with the echo of Bran’s fall. For the first time in his life, Jaime wonders if he truly is the monster people whisper about.

Tyrion finds him later, pouring himself a generous goblet of wine as he takes a seat by the fire. “You look troubled, brother,” Tyrion says, his tone light but his gaze focused. “Let me guess—our hosts aren’t quite as warm as you’d hoped?”

Jaime doesn’t respond immediately, staring into the flames. Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I went to see the boy.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “A bold choice. Let me guess—Lady Stark wasn’t particularly welcoming?”

“She threw me out,” Jaime admits, a bitter edge to his voice. “And she’s right to. What business do I have there, playing the role of the concerned guest?”

“None,” Tyrion says bluntly. “But I suspect it wasn’t Lady Stark you wanted to see.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens, his silence telling Tyrion all he needs to know. The shorter man studies him for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter now.

“You’re not yourself, Jaime. Not here. Not around her.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire. He knows Tyrion is right, just as he knows the truth of what he’s done will haunt him for the rest of his days. But the image of you by Bran’s bedside, broken and silent, refuses to leave his mind.

And for the first time in his life, Jaime Lannister feels truly powerless.

The day of departure dawns cold and gray, the kind of day that seems to stretch endlessly over the North. The royal procession is bustling with activity in the courtyard as servants load carriages, horses are saddled, and final preparations are made. Jaime Lannister stands near his mount, but his thoughts are elsewhere.

You are nowhere to be seen.

He tells himself he shouldn’t care. You have no reason to be here, no reason to bid farewell to those who brought tragedy to your family. But he had hoped—foolishly, selfishly—that he might catch a glimpse of you before they left. Even just a glance, a fleeting moment to reassure himself that you hadn’t vanished completely from his world. But the absence is palpable, heavy like the northern winds.

Instead, he watches as the Stark family fragments around him. Lord Eddard, ever the dutiful man, stands by King Robert, his expression as stony as the walls of his home. The young Stark girls, Sansa and Arya, hover nearby, each reflecting their own feelings about the journey ahead—Sansa’s excitement barely contained, Arya’s irritation unmistakable.

Robb Stark lingers at the edge of the courtyard, his eyes cold and watchful, flanked by the hulking presence of Grey Wind. His gaze catches Jaime’s for the briefest moment, and the hostility there is unmistakable. Robb knows nothing, but the tension between them has grown like frost on the castle walls.

Jaime turns away, his attention drawn to Jon Snow, who stands near the castle gates with Ghost at his side. The boy’s expression is unreadable, though there’s a certain heaviness to his movements. Tyrion, standing beside him, chats animatedly, his tone light despite the weight of the day.

Jaime moves toward them, if only to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

“Ah, brother,” Tyrion greets as Jaime approaches, his voice tinged with amusement. “Come to bid me farewell? Or perhaps you’re here to remind me not to fall off the Wall.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m here to ensure you don’t disgrace the family name. Though I suppose that’s a futile effort.”

Tyrion laughs, clapping Jaime on the arm. “I’ll do my best to uphold our reputation. By which I mean, of course, drinking my weight in wine and pissing off the edge of the world.”

Jon Snow remains quiet, his eyes flicking between the brothers. Finally, he speaks, his tone low and wary. “I thought knights of the Kingsguard stayed close to the King.”

“I thought bastards didn’t speak unless spoken to,” Jaime retorts smoothly, though there’s no real venom in his words. The boy is too much like his father—stubborn, proud, and entirely too serious for his age.

Jon stiffens, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword, but Tyrion interjects before the tension can escalate.

“Come now, let’s not start a duel before we even leave Winterfell,” he says lightly, though his gaze sharpens as he looks at Jaime. “We wouldn’t want the wolves feasting on a lion before we’ve even reached the capital.”

Jaime exhales, forcing himself to step back. He glances at Jon, then at Tyrion. “Be careful on the road,” he says finally, his voice softer now. “The North doesn’t take kindly to outsiders.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “Neither does the Wall, I’m told. But I appreciate your concern, brother.”

Jaime nods, though his mind is already drifting elsewhere. As the final calls for departure echo through the courtyard, he finds his gaze sweeping the castle walls one last time, hoping against hope to see you there.

He doesn’t find you, but his thoughts linger on you regardless as the procession begins its journey south. The sound of hooves and wheels fades into the distance, leaving Winterfell behind. Jaime rides near the front of the column, his armor catching the occasional glint of sunlight, but his mind is far from the road ahead.

The memory of you at Bran’s bedside is seared into his mind—the grief in your eyes, the silence that cut deeper than any words. He can’t shake the feeling that you knew, somehow, that he was responsible. That you had looked through him, seen the guilt he tried so desperately to bury.

The road stretches endlessly before him, but his thoughts remain in Winterfell, lingering in the cold halls and shadowed chambers where he left a piece of himself behind.

And in the silence, he wonders if he’ll ever truly be free of it.