#Robb laughs so hard he pulls a muscle

[mkstrigidae]

Jon probably drew the line at matching ponytails

(Some Barbie!Jonsa for your dash. Sansa is so excited about barbiecore fashion. Jon, a bit less so)

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[nbrook29]

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind. 

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander. 

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun. 

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up. 

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked. 

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps. 

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek. 

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous. 

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him. 

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel. 

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway. 

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice. 

Robbe. 

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.”

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn. 

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button. 

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Hon' if you are accepting prompts (and only if you are!) can I have some spooky Sansa and Jon? I'm still not over them in spooky scenarios so I would love to read anything about it.

And for something a little more specific (in case that helps): maybe ghost!Sansa and Jon moves to her place and she is not happy, but also she loves his dog?

Or maybe Addams AU!

Or maybe Jon is the ghost and Sansa moves into his place?

Or they are talkshow hosts or something and a ghost is trying to get them together?

Or maybe YouTubers AU and their followed bug them until they agree to a Collab and it's Halloween or something like that?

Okay I went all over the place and clearly have too many ideas, but feel free to choose any of you do choose something!

First of all, I guess I'm sort of always taking prompts? I'll never turn them away, though they may also sit in my inbox forever (I'm looking at you, the last anon prompt from when I asked for them back in December...)

Second, spooky prompts! ❤️👻❤️👻❤️ If there's anything I love in this world, it's the supernatural/paranormal. And it may be the middle of summer, but I'm already longing for spooky season and I've been trying to vibe with it but it's hard when the days are so long, hot, and humid. (I desperately want to be able to go outside and not feel like I'm breathing soup, thank you very much.)

Before I get to the prompt itself, because I'm too wordy for my own good - your one prompt of Sansa/Jon is a ghost and the other moves in to their place... well, I've read that fic! It's actually locked on AO3 and I don't know if that means the author doesn't really want people finding it/linking to it, so I won't, but I guess DM me if you wanna know what it is?? I don't know the protocol for that. There's also Haunt Me, Then by the lovely @ode-to-an-inkwell which I read back when I was lurking and I loved it. It's the same base premise, but with a ton more plot!

The prompt I have chosen is the youtuber collab! Because I also love writing about/dissecting social media, apparently.

.

.

Sansa breathes – deep and even – and tries to stay centered in the middle of her group (away from the edges, away from the dark corners and the sounds coming from them and the people she knows are waiting for her there).

She wishes with all her strength that her followers had never found out that she's related to Robb. It's not something she was hiding, necessarily, but when she started her channel, she'd kept a lot of her personal life private. And honestly, she never thought it would get to this point – the point where she has millions of followers and Robb and Theon have millions of followers and those followers inevitably found out she and Robb are siblings.

A collab had been unavoidable. She just wishes it were any other activity than... this.

She lets out a strangled scream as something crashes to her right and she stumbles left, straight into the other person who's been dragged along tonight – Jon Snow. He catches her arm and keeps her upright and she almost thanks him until she hears him let out a laugh. It infuriates her and she rips her arm out of his grasp and sends him a glare, though it's short lived when she sees what looks like a jar of eyeballs on a shelf behind him and bile twists in her stomach.

She hates Halloween - she hates horror movies and jump scares and gore, and she especially hates haunted houses. But what else should she have expected for this collab? Robb and Theon have a dumb prank channel, of course they'd bring her – notorious wimp Sansa Stark – to a haunted house for the video. She thinks Robb got permission to film, because Dacey and Olyvar are flanking them with cameras to capture everyone's reactions.

“It's all fake,” Jon reminds her, though she barely hears his voice over the din of sound effects echoing through the dark corridor as they pass from one room to another.

“I know that,” she hisses, heart pounding wildly. They approach a doorway and – sure enough – right as she passes through, there's a person with heavy special effects makeup waiting on the other side to grab at her (another thing she resents – this is one of those places where the actors can touch you. They'd had to sign a waver). She screams in the actor's faux-bloody face and she swears he laughs at her.

In front of her, Robb and Theon are being obnoxious as usual. She doesn't really condone their prank channel and has often had to reign them in from doing something that would get one of them needlessly hurt (or would be considered, you know, illegal). Jon is usually an unwilling participant in their videos, and he has his own woodworking channel that has nowhere near the viewership that her makeup channel or Robb and Theon's prank channels do (she's told him, over an over, that if he showed his face on camera, he'd get more viewers, but he insists that he wants the focus to be on his work, not him). Jon walks next to her, calm, like nothing in this place fazes him, and she sort of resents him for this.

She understands it's all fake, she's not stupid, but that doesn't stop her fear response from kicking in every time something jumps at her, every time lights flicker or go out. It doesn't stop her stomach from turning whenever she sees the needlessly gory scenes like that doctor cutting a girl open, her fake intestines spilling out as the actress screamed.

“It'll be over soon,” Jon leans in close so she can hear him better, and for a moment a sense of calm washes over her. She loses it, though, as he moves away to give her space and she panics and reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him back close to her.

A strange look passes over his face, but he doesn't say anything, just lets her grab onto his arm as they continue through the haunted house. She can't explain it, but with Jon next to her she feels... safe. She knows none of this is real, she knows none of these actors will actually hurt her, but it doesn't seem to matter, and it doesn't seem to matter that Jon won't actually have to protect her (though she somehow knows that he would if he ever had to, and that's a strange realization to have as she's walking through a room of terrifying clowns).

When it's finally over and they're outside, she breathes a sigh of relief and she feels muscles that she hadn't even realized were tensed relax.

“That was awesome,” Theon nearly shouts at one of the cameras. He and Robb talk loudly and animatedly for the cameras about the house, summarizing it for their audience (she knows they're likely to cut out a lot of the extreme scares and gore, since a good portion of their audience are kids and young teens).

“You good?” Jon murmurs to her and she realizes she still has a death grip on his arm.

“Oh,” she breathes with a forced laugh, “yeah,” and she lets go of his arm and immediately wishes she could have it back. (And then, some part of her brain whispers that she wishes she could have his arm wrapped around her instead, but she pushes that thought out because where did that even come from?)

Jon brings a hand up to scratch at his beard and shifts on his feet and she wonders if its because he feels awkward on camera. Jon's never liked being on camera, not really – it's why Robb and Theon always have to catch him off guard and why his videos – at most – only feature his hands and forearms (the comments on his videos about how attractive his hands and forearms are had been one of her main arguments for showing his face, but Jon had gotten weird after that and so she'd dropped it eventually).

“Hayride next?” Robb asks, which brings her back to the present.

“There's more?” she whines, twisting her face into a pout that always got her out of trouble when she was a kid, but Robb and Theon are already making their way towards the next attraction.

“You can sit next to me,” Jon offers, and she feels relief flood through her. “I'll be on the outside.”

She feels herself smile for the first time all night and nods and she's even more pleased when he – after a moment of hesitation – holds out his arm for her to take. She does so, curling her own arms around his and hugging it to her, keeping herself as close to him as possible as they walk through the fairgrounds to the haunted hayride.

They arrive right behind Robb and Theon and when Robb sees the way she's basically clinging to his best friend, there's a look that she can't figure out – it flicks from their joined arms, to Jon, then back to their arms, then to her, then back to Jon again and she feels Jon stiffen up next to her. Something silent passes between them and Robb looks almost... concerned? But then Jon shakes his head so subtly she thinks she's not supposed to see it and Robb nods back and turns around to face Theon and the cameras and Sansa's left more confused than anything.

The next tractor and wagon pull up to the entrance and the previous riders disembark. She waits with Jon, and though there's a slight fluttering in her stomach, she's not terrified like she had been right before the haunted house. Jon keeps his word and as they climb onto the open-topped wagon, he lets her sit in the middle and he takes the outside so she won't have to deal with the actors that run up to them during the ride. She settles into the hay and, without thinking, leans her head on his shoulder, arm still linked through his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Robb and Theon shouldn't have made you do this,” Jon says back and his voice sounds a bit shaky. She can't see his face, she's too comfortable resting her head against him to look up, but she wonders why he sounds nervous. Maybe he's more scared of all of this than he was letting on? He hadn't seemed nervous at all in the haunted house.

“Don't worry, I'm going to have so much fun giving them a full face of glam makeup when it's time to make the video for my channel.” That's the point of this collab – she does a video for their channel and they do one for hers.

Jon lets out a soft laugh as the tractor starts up and the wagon lurches forward, heading into the dark forest. “Can I watch?”

“Definitely,” she says as she squeezes his arm tighter, her heart jumping at a noise off in the woods – a signal that the scares are about to start. “You should let me do your makeup,” she continues to try and distract herself. “I think glam makeup would look amazing with your beard.”

“Sure,” she can feel his shoulder lift into a shrug, and that does make her lift her head up and look at him.

“You would? I thought you hated being on camera?”

He shrugs again, but whatever response he was going to give is cut off as an actor takes a running leap at the wagon, latching onto the side and pulling himself up, and the passenger nearest to him (right in front of Jon) screams. Sansa sucks in a breath and tries to calm her racing heart (and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dacey with a camera pointed right at her and Jon, a smirk on her face).

She spends the rest of the ride (and all through the haunted corn maze), hanging onto Jon for dear life and she swears his calm presence is the only reason she survives.

(And when she finally gets home to her little apartment and gets into bed, she tries desperately not to think too hard about why that is. She tries not to analyze the safety she felt with him or the way her heart had been fluttering during the car ride home, sitting in Robb's back seat and staring at Jon's profile illuminated by moonlight in the front seat as he and Robb talked and joked around. She tries not to obsess about the way he'd told her to call him if she ever wanted him to be in one of her videos, tries not to read too much into the look Robb had given Jon when he said it.)

(She tells herself that the reason she can't sleep that night is because of the haunted house.)

(It's definitely not because of Jon.)

[ayellowcurtain]

Maybe a convo during a date were Sander talks with Robbe about their future like being engaged or moving in together.

Robbe bites his lip, taken aback by the loud noise the electric shaver makes, and how it vibrates in his palm and makes Robbe doubt he can really do this because he can barely feel his fingers now. Sander's always warm hand sneaks inside his shirt, squeezing his waist, and Robbe meets his comforting gaze sitting there, with Robbe standing with one of Sander’s legs in between his.

"It's just hair, it'll grow in like a second." Robbe whines, not sure he can explain and not sound stupid how attached to a hair he is. Sander's hair to be specific. Everything about him, actually. Robbe loves every inch of this guy so much it's hard to let go, to accept change even if they don't matter, if they won't change who Sander is.

"If you don't do it, I will." Sander challenges him, and Robbe looks at what he already did.

"But I already fucked up!"

"We agreed to just cut everything off already. It's fuckig summer, and I'm always hot, and my hair grows ridiculously fast.'' Sander sits up straight again, the pool of dark hair that was in his nape slipping to the floor with no ceremony like it’s that easy to let go.

Robbe moves his head, not at all certain if he should do it but he knows if he doesn't, Sander will do it ever faster and he will probably cut more hair than Robbe is willing to accept. So he puts one hand at the top of Sander's hair or what’s left of it, finding some comfort in still finding layers and layers of long, thick locks of hair that he won't touch at the top of his boyfriend’s head. He holds with his thumb the longer pieces, and carefully runs the machine through Sander's temple to the back of his neck. He forces himself not to think about it until the left side is completely done, basically no hair left. He turns the shaver off not to cause any more damage and notices Sander's eyebrows going up, looking at him, waiting to be allowed to move.

"Okay...now it's done so no complaints if it looks bad!" Sander snorts, putting his arm around Robbe's waist again, making him stand in between Sander’s legs now so he can reach the other side.

"Come on, baby, just one more. I believe in you!"

"I'm gonna close my eyes and do it!"

"Hey!" Sander slaps his thigh. "Don't be mean now."

Robbe laughs, and bends down to kiss him just for a second to regain more confidence that Sander has to share.

"Let me just get this over with before I have a heart attack." Sander nods his head and tries to keep a straight face. He keeps looking forward, sitting still like Robbe told him to do, based on the five haircut tutorials he watched before starting this.

Robbe turns the machine on again and adjusts Sander's hair, keeping everything he's not going to cut safely underneath his hand. He tries to do it fast this time so he won't have second thoughts. It's easier than the first side but Robbe is still very unsure about the haircut Sander ends up with once he turns the shaver off for good, putting it back on the bathroom counter. It looks way too short on the sides, and that was not intentional.

He steps back as Sander gets up slowly, making all the hair slip down his shoulders and back. He looks at himself up close in the mirror, opening the faucet, wetting his hands a little bit, fixing the bad edges Robbe created. As Sander is busy, focused on cleaning himself a little bit, Robbe tries to really look and take it in. Sander standing there, with his pants a little too low on his hips, his black and fitted boxers appearing underneath it, the muscles in his back moving as he plays with his new haircut, and maybe, somehow, Sander can rock this haircut like very, very few could. He looks so hot it's making Robbe dizzy with want.

"You look hot." Sander snorts, looking at him through the mirror.

"Yeah? I thought you hated it." He turns around, pulling Robbe closer by his waist.

"I could never hate you, or your hair. It's like my two favorite things ever."

"Me and my hair, huh?" Sander bites his botom lip not to laugh, nodding his head slowly. Robbe smiles, putting his arms around Sander's neck. "And other things..."

"Other things..." Sander presses them even closer, kissing Robbe's neck very slowly.

"Yeah, I can't live without you, not even one of the million things that make you who you are."

"Never?" Robbe shakes his head, hugging Sander tighter, laughing when they hook into one of their positions, Sander so easily picking him up just right, his hands fitting so well in the small of Robbe's back and his ass, how Robbe can so perfectly keep his legs around Sander's strong waist.

"Never! Can you?"

Sander smiles, shaking his head, kissing him again. "Never. I wish I could spend every second of my life glued to every inch of the million things that make you." Robbe laughs, playing with the hair in the back of his hair, it feels so much longer now with nothing on the sides.

“So cheesy."

"You started it." Sander kneels on the bed like it's easy with the extra weight, and limbs, putting Robbe down on the bed like he was made for this, and Robbe lets go of him, even though he doesn't want to, keeping his legs around Sander's waist so he won't escape somewhere else.

"Will we get married?" Robbe asks genuinely but in a light way, not worried about the answer to that, just curious about Sander's actual real plans. He frowns like Robbe just called him the worst name.

"Of course we will! What kind of question is that?"

"And we'll live here forever?"

Sander thinks about it, pressing his lips together again, the front of his hair almost covering his eyes these days. "Do you wanna live somewhere else?"

Robbe never thought about it but it feels like it's something Sander would like to do, and Robbe would love to do it with him.

“I have nowhere in mind, actually but the idea sounds fun."

“And...do you think about living together in the near future?” Sander smiles quietly, nudging Robbe’s jaw with the tip of his nose.

Robbe smiles wide, turning his face to look at Sander, with his big, innocent, puppy eyes, and he nods his head. He would be living with Sander already if it was his personal choice but they both need to want to live together…

“Yeah? Really?”

“You don’t?” Robbe asks, a hint of insecurity starting to take over his thoughts, focusing his attention on Sander’s hair to not look at Sander and maybe see that it didn’t cross his mind until now.

“Of course I do. I think we could start really thinking about it...maybe go check some places…”

Sander lifts his eyebrows, like he’s making sure with Robbe if that’s okay. He pushes himself up on the bed, fluffing the pillow behind him, his heart starting to beat faster and faster.

“A place just for us…”

“Yeah, with a nice bed, thick walls, and a good enough bathroom.”

Robbe laughs, clinging onto him, “Do you like buying home stuff?”

Sander laughs with his enthusiasm and curiosity, wrapping his arms tightly around Robbe’s waist again to keep them flat against each other.

“I never bought much but I’m sure it’ll be fun with you.”

“A nice comforter…”

“A heavy one, please.”

Robbe nods his head, kissing his cheek, slowly going down to his warm, inviting neck.

“I want a new pillow too.”

“Fancy ones.” Sander puts his hands carefully inside Robbe’s shirt, scratching his back, making him squirm.

“Yeah. We deserve fancy ones.”

“We’ll have to go grocery shopping together every time.”

Sander moves back to look at Robbe, smiling. “We’re the best team to ever grocery shop.”

“Yeah, we’re the fucking best!”

“The best thing is: if there’s ever another lockdown, we’ll be together. Forced to be locked together, what a tragedy.”

Robbe laughs, kissing his boyfriend, hugging him with arms and legs, letting Sander turn them around, and Robbe sits on his thighs.

“What a tragedy, baby.”

[malereader-inserts]

To Serve Our King and Queen

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Daenerys Targeryen x Baratheon!Reader, Sansa Stark x Baratheon!Reader Summary: A story of heart break, love and heart break again. Word Count:  2,407 Request:  Hey can u do a Daenerys x Baratheon reader where he is the son of cersei and Robert the true son. He used to be In love with Sansa but she wanted Joffrey so she break his heart. Reader leaves king’s landing with tyrion and meet Daenerys where both fall In love with each other. Later Sansa sees the reader with dany and Jon when they arrive to the north. Sansa is being disrespectful towards dany and reader put Sansa in her place and tells her to not talk to his WIFE like that ever again please. A/n: I changed it a bit, I wish it was a little bitter but oh well. 

Cersei and Robert were married before he even became king, Tywin had faith that the Baratheon would overrule the Mad King. It was the start of the downfall of their marriage, the sex was lousy, but it got the lioness pregnant. You were a beautiful babe that Cersei had fallen in love with your looks.

You were a year old when your father overthrows the throne and becomes king of the seven kingdoms. You had a somewhat happy childhood, you were spoilt by your father more than your younger brother - Joffery. Whilst your mother somewhat loved you, you knew that she loved her golden crown children more than you, you had a suspicion about your siblings, they look too much of your uncle Jaime than your father, which was known that Baratheon seed was strong.

So, you were more of a father’s boy than your mother’s. At a young age, you were trained hard, went through advisers and teachers - teaching your expanding knowledge, your father demanded that you were to start off young in training to be king, making sure you know how to fight and be a respected knight just like your father. When you were growing up, you were told tales from your uncle Tyrion, who adored you because he could hold an intellectual conversation with you.

As you grew up, often at times you went with your father to go on hunting, even met with your dad’s best friend and his children. You often had playtime with them, being good friends with Robb and Jon, but you were always wanting to be with Sansa, your father laughs that you would marry Sansa when you two were older - Ned would laugh too.

As years gone past, you tried to ignore your father’s debauchery and your mother’s ever growing hatred towards you. You grew up to be a fine young man, despite being the son of two fucked up people, you were a loved prince - charming, caring and a fighter. You were too familiar with your mother’s manipulation that you were just as smart as her in playing games.

Tywin saw your potential to rule. The people will love you, they already do, because you weren’t fake but you knew when to stand your ground. You weren’t going to be pushed around, you knew your worth to that throne and you will be king whether your mother likes it or not. 

You knew what you wanted but sometimes that’s not how it works out.

You wanted Sansa as a bride, when you arrived at Winterfell after so many years later, you saw how beautiful Sansa was. But, you could see how she was ogling on your brother Joffery, you scoffed - he’s not that big of a deal. 

“Sansa be wise, pick (Y/n),” Robb says in their little family circle after being dismissed in greeting the king, “Jon and I know him better than you, and he’s a delight.”

“But, he’s not Joffery.”

Arya snorted, “Of course, you would want a little prat than an actual prince.”

“Joffery is a prince,” Sansa argued, “He’s handsome and I love him.”

“You barely know the boy,” Robb says with concern on his voice, “How do you even know if you love him?”

You tried winning Sansa’s heart, but before you left Winterfell, Sansa had pulled you aside, you had a little bit of hope but you had seen how she was all over your brother and was by his side every opportunity she could get.

You got your heartbroken by her, she was honest and you were thankful for that, but it hurt your heart. Sure, the two of you were still young, feelings can change like the wind and nothing is certain in the future. 

When you arrived home, you talked to your dad about it and for once, he got serious - talking about that even if you were rejected you should always try to pursue her. He then laughed it off saying Baratheon men don’t have much luck with Stark ladies, but you could see in the pain in his father’s eyes as he remembers Lyanna Stark. 

When your father died there were talks about who will inherit the throne, Cersei was quick on her game to get Joffery on the throne, you were livid. There was a screaming match between you and your mother in front of the small council before venomously bidding her hell. It was Varys, who started to tell you to leave because there were talks of your mother that she was going to hire people to kill you. 

You couldn’t risk that, so you took a route down to the deepest part of Kings landing, keeping yourself out of sight, picking up a stray sword that caught your eye.

That’s your story really.

Anyone back home would believe that you were killed or dead, and suffered in the rule of Joffery Baratheon. People called your the lost prince of hope, their last strand of hope.

Tyrion did not expect to see you alive and by Daenarys side when he entered Esso, running away with the potential of execution on his head. When he saw you, it had been a few years that had past, you were a lot different. 

Your hair was longer, you had grown more muscle mass, must of because you trained with Greyworm. You stood up straighter as if you had a purpose, but you looked happier. What your uncle did not expect was to look at the silver haired woman with such love.

It was a familiar look that he had seen, it was the same look you used to stare at Sansa with. But, to Tyrion’s surprised the look with returned. When you weren’t paying attention or was looking away, Daenerys would give you the same look of love. Tyrion asked Barristan, who laughs and nods.

“Those two? In love like any other teenagers!” He laughs, shaking his head, “They’re betrothed to each other, looking for the perfect time to marry. Daenerys has explicitly said that she wanted no one by her side when she becomes Queen, but learning Ser (Y/n) story, she realised that the two of them have the biggest claim to the throne, rightfully, and on the way, she fell in love with him as did he.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nodded, “I would have liked to see my nephew rule the seven kingdoms, at least he has the birthright unlike Joffery and his siblings.”

“Bastards?” Ser Barristan asked as Tyrion nodded, “Well, that explains the blond hair.”

“I know for the fact that (Y/n) would rule with a good heart, he was trained and he has compassion, he fought any manipulation and lies that were fed to him.”

“Yes,” the knight nods, “I wonder what the people of Westeros would think when they find out a Baratheon could ride a dragon.”

As months past, years past on, Tyrion watched his nephew enjoy his life fighting for what is rightfully his alongside his wife, who loves him as much as he did. There was no one better to rule the Realms other than two great leaders. Tyrion watched how Daenerys freed slaves and took control, Tyrion remembers how you were as a prince. 

“Was there someone you loved before me?” Daenerys asked once, it was on the sail back to Westeros, she could see how excited you were to return home.

You looked at her, “I did, once,” You say, remembering how Dany had disclosed her lovers to you before, “She was fiery, but unlikely you who is made of fire and blood, it was her striking red hair - her name was Sansa Stark.”

“Is she-?”

“My uncle has told me before he had fled that she was alive, but I have no idea where she is now or if she is alive. I’m sure she turned to be a fine young lady.”

Dany raised an eyebrow, “Do tell more.”

“Well, as you know I am of Lannister blood.”

“I am aware,” Dany says distastefully, cringing that you were of blood of the man who murdered her father and you were the son of the man who killed her brother.

“She was more in love with my brother, Joffery. Half-brother because I had my suspicion that he wasn’t of Baratheon blood. You could say he’s pure, like you.”

Dany nods, knowing what you mean, after all, she is in a long line of keeping her blood pure as her relatives were all related one way or another. She hates to think the fact if she were to marry her narcissistic brother, Viserys, whilst both of you acknowledge that you two were distantly related - it was a fact that she was willing to ignore. 

“He was a cunt,” You laughed whilst your wife giggles next to you in bed, “Spoilt and full of himself, I don’t want to imagine what his rule was like, but stories from my uncle it seems to appear as hell.”

“And she picked him over you?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow, “Well, her loss, I think I have a great man before me. A true king.” 

You chuckle, smiling at her lovingly, kissing her forehead, “Shall we sleep, my love?”

“No,” She pouts as you can’t help but find it adorable, “I think you should tell me tales of Westeros, after all, it’s more of your home than it is of mine.”

You weren’t expecting to return to Winterfell, but, it demanded it’s independence, which you thought was outrageous - really. You were reunited with Jon, who greets you with a smile, a joke and good hug - it has been a while since you’ve seen your best friend, glad to see him alive.

You thought that you were going to take over Kings landing, but having to take a detour route to Winterfell to battle in a war of the undead. Although, you get to see your mother before going to the North.

You relish the sight to see her and your uncle Jaime astonished that you were alive and knowing you were going back to claim for the throne. Cersei did not miss how your eyes darken and the glimmer of your sword.

“Mother.”

“Son.”

It was the only interaction you had with her, she refused to come to talk to you, you weren’t surprised - you lacked a mother’s love as you grew up. But, Jaime tried his best to get you to talk to him. You shook off his advances before turning to Jon and Daenerys.

You were surprised to see Sansa, as she was with you. Arya had noticed how she was staring.

“You’re staring, do you have regrets?”

Sansa cleared her throat and stood up straight, “No, he’s just grown.”

“So, have you, perhaps you have a chance at wooing him,” Arya hums looking over to you, talking to Jon with Daenerys by your side, “I can’t deny that he is very handsome.”

You barely got to talk to Sansa when everyone was preparing to war, luckily that your group of people survived the war. But, Missandei was down in the tombs with Sansa and Tyrion where she had heard that Sansa was disrespecting your wife.

Missandei was going to tell her Queen, but rather think other when she sees you walking towards her with a smile - she knew that you were better to handle it. She saw how your jaw locked, no one was going to disrespect your wife.

“Thank you, Missandei, please be with Dany, I’ll sort her out.”

You went to Jon first, who was confused at his cousin after you and Dany told him that he was actually the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Jon had his whole heart to support you and Dany’s plan to rule the seven kingdoms, agreeing that despite Winterfell wanting independence, they would struggle.

Sansa was trying to find the right ways to talk to you, perhaps try and mend the relationship. But, when you were looking at her as you stride towards her - she thinks differently. 

Tyrion was in the room, trailing behind you as well as Varys. Jon followed closely behind whilst Arya looked confused, looking at her sister. 

“How dare you disrespect your Queen!” 

No greetings, no smile upon your face, fury on your expression and for once in her life, Sansa no longer recognise the sweet boy from many years ago.

“You should owe her your life after she came to rescue your home! She brought dragons and not once has she spoken about the clear disrespect that you and your people wore. She is not mad like her father at all.”

Tyrion, Varys, Jon and many other people could agree to that, Daenerys was nothing like her father and it was mostly because of you. You were her constant grounding, bringing her to reality and knowing that you will always be by her side. 

“She’s not my Queen!” Sansa snaps back, gritting her teeth, “I don’t think she should be if anything if someone was to take the throne it should be you! It’s been rightfully yours since your father died.”

“It is my throne,” You sneered as Sansa stops upon hearing your words, “You’re not only disrespecting your queen, you are disrespecting my wife.”

Wife.

Her hearts shatter, she wonders is that how you felt when she had rejected you. Your eyes were cold, your stance was stiff and the lost Valyrian sword matches it’s current owner - you. It reflected who you were, shiny and attractive, but can cut so deeply - it was hard to recover from it’s inflicted wounds.

“You shall never bad mouth the throne, you hear me?” You pressed on, your tone turning stern that she reluctantly nods, “Don’t test me, Stark.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and leave the room, leaving the occupants confused and somewhat terrified. 

“Well...” Arya breaks the silence, “Sansa?”

Her heart was broken, she thought this time she could find love. She was never Joffery’s, she refuses to be claimed by Ramsey and she lost Theon. But, she could not let a man ruin her thoughts, putting up a wall as she looks away from where you last were.

“I believe we all have a meeting on how we will accompany our King and Queen to the throne.”

She dreads to see you because she knows when she arrives - you will look at Daenerys with love and it’ll be returned. 

[allforyoumylovely]

sander and robbe having sleepover at each others house (you can pick whose house😂) and its just full of cuteness, laughter, (and maybe spiciness)

Aw yes, sleepovers 💘 well this is more the lead up to a sleepover, but still.

I got so many sweet prompts yesterday, thank you cuties!! 🥺 I'll try my hardest to write about them all. Here's a fluffy one with a pinch of spice which we love in this house <3

do you wanna kiss a little tonight?

The way Sander had scrambled to reply, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor when reaching for his phone across the bed, was actually embarrassing. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a week, both of them, especially Robbe, busy with uni starting, and Sander was experiencing serious kiss and touch withdrawals, so he believed he was excused.

When Robbe set foot in his room, wind-swept from the bike ride, smelling faintly of honey and laundry detergent, Sander let his instincts take over and crowded him up against the wall, sank his hands into the soft fabric of his hoodie, and slotted their lips together. And the speed with which his cells refilled with dopamine was dizzying, making his knees tremble beneath him.

And now here they are, hours later, in Sander’s bed, nothing but a heap of tangled limbs and kiss-slick lips and flushed cheeks.

Sander has Robbe on his back with his bottom lip trapped in his mouth and his hoodie the colour of cinnamon pushed up his stomach, exposing a teasing strip of taut, creamy skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. He kisses down Robbe’s torso and licks the sliver of bare skin, bunching the cotton up in handfuls around Robbe’s chest to give himself more stomach, more waist, more sternum to put his mouth on. And it elicits the sweetest, softest sigh he has ever fucking heard; one that tells him that Robbe is completely and utterly relaxed like this. And Sander still can’t put into words how lucky it makes him feel to be allowed on top of this boy, the most exquisite he has ever known.

With his teeth, he teasingly pulls at the waistband of Robbe’s boxers peeking out from under his sweats, letting it snap back down on his hip, just to run his blunt nails over the muscles on Robbe’s abdomen. He watches them twitch under his touch, and Robbe trails his elegant fingers over Sander’s cheeks, jaw, neck, before settling in the hair at his nape.

“Sander,” he mumbles in the dim lamplight, and Sander presses his mouth to the echo of it, want coursing through his bloodstream as he toys with the strings of Robbe’s pants.

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, and Sander hums absentmindedly, licking up the salty sheen of his throat.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go home.”

And that gets Sander’s attention in a split-second; it feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his cloudy brain. He blinks down at Robbe, confusion knitting his brows together. “What? Why?”

Robbe smooths his thumb over the curve of Sander’s cheekbone, his hair fanned out on the pillow in a tousled angel-like halo, and Sander’s heart sinks at the thought of him going. “I have an early class tomorrow. I’m just gonna wake you.”

“So?” Sander says with a shrug of his shoulders, not seeing the problem “I don’t mind.”

Robbe gives him a clear yeah right-head tilt.

“What?” Sander laughs.

“Sander, you despise waking up early,” Robbe says. “Like, I literally can’t think of anything you hate more.”

“I can,” Sander frowns and juts out his bottom lip in a pout. “I hate that you want to go home.”

“I don’t want to go home–“

“Then stay.” Sander tangles a hand in his hair, sifting the curly locks through his fingertips. “I want you to stay.”

Robbe gazes up at him with fluttering eyelashes from the soothing sensation, and Sander presses kisses to the tip of his nose, the arch of his cupid’s bow, the apple of his cheeks, mumbling soft stays between each of them.

From the way Robbe rolls his eyes and lets out a pretty little giggly sound, Sander can tell he’s on the cusp of persuasion. He sneakily dips his hand into Robbe’s underwear, whispering against the soft corner of his mouth just beside a devastatingly cute dimple, “Please stay, baby.”

Robbe’s expression is loose and languid, and Sander knows he’ll have him naked and in his bed for the rest of the night.

With a hand on his heart and the other in Robbe’s pants, Sander says, “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour when you wake me up tomorrow.”

“You better be,” Robbe tells him with a quirked eyebrow and a small smile.

Sander lets his hand wander down Robbe’s chest, triumph and delight blooming unguarded on his face. But then Robbe grabs onto the lines of his waist and rolls him over in one fluid motion, just so insane like that, taking control as easily as blinking an eye.

With a dopey grin on his face and a delicious ache in the pit of his stomach, Sander can’t help mumbling, “You’re so sexy.”

And Robbe deftly strips them of their clothes, kissing him hard and hungrily with every shed layer, pinning him to the mattress between strong, golden thighs.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Saturday, 08:10

Song: Her - Five Minutes

The sun comes out.

It had risen hours ago with Sander, but also like him had then tucked itself away, making its ascent behind a flurry of dense clouds. Now Sander watches as the last wisps slither aside and reveal the full circle.

It hasn’t been up quite long enough to warm the concrete roof Sander sits on. He’d thought, rightly, to grab his jacket before slipping out around an hour prior, and he’s grateful for the tough leather now. He hadn’t bothered bringing his camera, so his hands are also safely tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t need any more photographs of this view than he already has.

He likes it fine like this. To just sit and see. He doesn’t need to capture it. To have it exist in this moment is enough.

Being so high up likely doesn’t help with the chill, but this is one of Sander’s favourite spots. He’d been pleased, the day one of his professors took their class to one of the older buildings in the academy and climbed the back stairs right to the top. They’d had to capture this scene that day. The sun glinting amidst the clouds, the clouds obscuring the tops of some of the area’s highest buildings, and all the life going on down below. Even now there are a few students milling around there, heading to their studios early or meeting fellow classmates, and interspersed is the honk of morning traffic, the hustle and bustle of a world just beginning to wake.

Sander is apart from all of it. The sun is slanting a ray solely for him; the beings below are tiny specks of colour splashed amidst the gray; the level of the world he’s entered is quiet, aside from the music lilting lightly in his ears.

He had been even more pleased that day to notice none of his fellow classmates had paid much attention to the roof itself, but simply focused on the task at hand. He had wondered how such a perfect place of solace wasn’t already constantly occupied, especially when it could be so easily accessed by a whole school of art students. He hadn’t thought he would be able to make it his own.

But sitting on the lip of the building, legs hung over the edge and arms resting on one of the lower bars stopping him from falling to his death, it does feel like the rooftop belongs to him and him alone. The thought is enough to bring a smile to his face.

He’s the only one seeing this right now, the only one capable of capturing this exact image at this exact time. It doesn’t—like many things do—make him feel as isolated or small as he expects. It reminds him that he has his own vision and his own mind and his own existence, and this must mean he is meant for something. This eagle-eye perspective of this universe in this exact moment is made just for him.

His smile widens as he ponders on how Robbe-like that thought is.

It’s this thought that eventually draws him away. He slides his legs back onto solid concrete and hauls himself to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his ass and brushing stone crumbs off the back of his jeans. Then he slips back through the doorway and down the stairs and begins the trek back to his number-one solace.

His feet cry out in relief as he quietly lets himself into the house and pulls off his Docs. They aren’t the best walking shoes. His feet feel achy and sweaty and he curls and rolls his toes on the wooden floor as he hangs his jacket back on his usual hook. Then he climbs another set of stairs.

He’s relieved to find Robbe exactly how he left him, only now lit in a more golden glow. The boy is curled on his side, facing the doorway Sander has just crept through, curls splayed on the pillow and mouth slightly agape. Fast asleep. Beautiful.

Sander tugs off his jumper and steps out of his jeans, then rounds the bed and crawls back in next to his boyfriend.

The sheets have chilled since he vacated them, unhelpful against his already-cold skin. He shifts towards the middle of the mattress and already feels warmer. The heat emanating from Robbe beckons him closer, and he doesn’t fight it, slipping right into the dip behind Robbe and sliding an arm over his waist, pulling the boy back against his chest. Robbe moves easily, snuggling back into Sander with a sigh, and Sander’s whole body blooms with heat.

As much as he likes his rooftop, there’s no doubt that this is his favourite place to be. ‘This’ being anywhere within Robbe’s orbit.

He doesn’t quite drift off again, but his body goes pleasantly lax and his mind quiets. The longer he listens to Robbe’s soft breaths the more his own heart eases.

Then Robbe starts to shift, and Sander worries he’s woken him. He wriggles in Sander’s arms and Sander loosens his grip, but Robbe simply rolls over in his embrace, turning to face him and immediately curling towards his chest. Sander’s lips turn up in a smile as he draws him in, pressing his nose to Robbe’s soft curls and inhaling slowly. Robbe’s arm curls over his waist, tucking around his back and denting his skin.

He traces patterns over Robbe’s bare shoulder in the few minutes it takes for Robbe to stir again. His grip tightens on Sander for a second as his eyes scrunch, refusing to succumb to the sunlight as he presses closer to Sander’s chest.

Sander presses a kiss to the top of his head as he lets out a tiny, whiny hum, still half-asleep as he stretches his toes against Sander’s ankles and blinks.

Robbe’s doe eyes, even while squinty and crusted with sleep, are the most mesmerizing things he’s ever seen. The corners of them crinkle as Robbe leans back far enough to smile up at him before burying his face back in the crook of Sander’s neck. “Morning,” he mumbles. Then he kisses the closest patch of Sander’s skin.

Sander hugs him tight and returns, “Morning. Sleep well?”

Robbe hums again. “Wha’ time is it?”

“I don’t know. Still before nine, I think.”

“Okay,” Robbe sighs, giving him a squeeze. “We still have some time then.” After a pause, he pulls away from Sander again and looks up at him curiously. “Did you go out? You’re cold.”

This last bit comes out as a whine, and Sander huffs. “Yeah. Just for a walk.”

Robbe hums, smiling as he snuggles back into him again, pushing Sander onto his back so he can sprawl out over his chest and lock their arms together. “Taking photos?”

“No. Didn’t take my camera or anything.”

“But you took your phone, right?”

“Of course, I needed music.”

Robbe huffs, but accepts this response without further questions, leaving a smiling kiss on Sander’s chest. He repeats the motion, then starts up a lazy trail, mapping his way across Sander’s collarbone until Sander tugs his hair. Robbe tilts his head up and lets Sander connect their lips, shifting up on the bed and pressing a hand to Sander’s cheek. Sander’s hand moves to cup the back of Robbe’s head, fingers tangling in his curls and drawing him closer. Robbe’s hand moves up his chest to settle in the crook of his neck and he feels suddenly warm.

He skims a hand down Robbe’s back, tracing the divots and dents of his spine, breathing slow under Robbe’s lazy kisses. He palms at Robbe’s hip, and Robbe quickly takes the hint, lifting his leg over Sander’s and settling atop him before letting out a happy hum.

“Good morning,” he says, amused and cheeky, and Sander bites his lip in retaliation.

Robbe giggles and Sander swallows the sound down, tucks it away in the lower part of his chest to be dug up later. He has made up a whole portfolio of these precious sounds, along with a plethora of the most stunning images and a sad imitation of Robbe’s touch. It’s hard to beat the real thing.

Sander soaks up as much of it as he can now and still begs for more, splaying one hand over shoulder-blades and letting the other slide down, curling over the curve of Robbe’s bottom, drawing him down while tilting his own hips up. Now Robbe’s hum is lower, coming from a more guttural place as he bears down on his own, only requiring that initial permission.

He breaks away to gaze down at Sander, tracing light fingertips over his face as he breathes heavily. Sander smooths his hand back up the line of Robbe’s back to tangle both in his hair. This time he makes his way along Robbe’s cheek, feathering kisses against the stubbly skin until he can brush his lips against the shell of Robbe’s ear and nip at the lobe, free of his earring for the moment. Robbe makes a small, mewling noise and tightens his grip on Sander’s shoulders.

“What time are you leaving?” Sander asks, keeping his voice at a murmur so as not to spoil the mood entirely.

“Jens is meeting me here around ten.”

Sander groans. “You can’t make that ten-thirty?”

Robbe huffs gently. He places his hands on Sander’s chest and pushes himself up to sitting, still astride Sander’s hips. Sander would be more upset with the new lack of contact if it didn’t give him such a nice view; Robbe is all clean-cut lines and lean muscle, with skin glowy and soft under Sander’s fingers. “Jens wanted to be gone yesterday,” Robbe reminds him, not unkindly.

“Why didn’t he just go with Lucas, then?”

“Because he agreed to wait around so I could spend the night with you.” Robbe raises his brows. At Sander’s permanent pout, he huffs again, shaking his head. “You can still come with, you know. We’re going to get a break before the end of school. Couldn’t you do with a break, too?”

Sander groans again and pulls Robbe’s pillow over his face. “I can’t,” he moans. “This project is due on Monday. Unless I stayed up all night tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time to finish it.”

Robbe hums. “You’re usually the one begging me to keep you up all night.”

Sander gives him a sour look, even as his stomach flutters.

“I’m sorry,” Robbe laughs. “I really am. But you know Lucas never asks for anything.”

“And you want to go.”

Robbe hesitates, but he never lies to Sander. He gives a tiny nod and an apologetic smile. “I do. And Jens really needs it.”

Sander considers him for a moment, the lovely curve of his lips and the gentle doe-eyes, and blows out a sigh. “You deserve it,” he says softly. He gives Robbe’s ear a tug and allows himself to smile. “And I suppose I’ll survive.”

It only takes Robbe’s grin to prove he’s done the right thing. Robbe leans down to leave him a kiss, light but lingering, and then turns it into a dozen different pecks instead. “You better. Thank you.”

Sander can only lie there and accept the onslaught of affection, laughing as he settles his hands on Robbe’s thighs and squeezes. He meant what he said—Robbe does deserve it. They hadn’t managed to get away over the break as initially planned, so when Lucas invited them back to Utrecht this weekend they had jumped on the offer. Sander had shared the excitement initially, but then had quickly been reminded of his reality, in which he had stupidly chosen to leave things to the last minute.

“I feel more sorry for you, anyway,” Sander mumbles, emitting a low whistle. “I’ll be alone, but at least I’ll have a quiet night.”

Robbe immediately pushes himself up again, wide-eyed. “No. We’re staying at Lucas’s house, with his mom. Surely they won’t…”

Sander snorts, waving at the space around them and raising a brow. “Where are we right now, Robbe?” At Robbe’s blush, he purses his lips together, making his own eyes big in suggestion. “It is a stress-relief getaway.”

Robbe buries his face in his hands and groans. He rolls off of Sander even as the elder protests, peeking through his hands to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m going to come home traumatised. It’ll be worse than the time I walked in on him and Jana.”

“Not if you don’t walk in on them,” Sander laughs. Seconds later, a pillow smacks him in the face. He makes a muffled protest as he’s attacked again, grabbing at the soft material and wrestling it out of Robbe’s grip to whack him back, hearing Robbe make an ‘oof’ sound before breaking out into giggles.

Eventually, Sander tosses the pillow aside and wrestles Robbe instead, getting him flat on his back and moving over him. He slots a leg between Robbe’s and presses their tangled hands down either side of Robbe’s head, and Robbe’s eyelids droop. Then his fingers flex around Sander’s as his lips part. His neck strains as his head tilts up. Sander ducks down, but forgoes Robbe’s lips to lick a stripe up his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe whines, squirming underneath him in protest even as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“What?”

“We haven’t got long.”

Sander hums, pulling the patch of skin he’d been kissing between his teeth to hear Robbe gasp. “We’d have longer if you were going to stay.”

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, this time in sullen protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sander soothes. “We still have enough time though, don’t we?”

“Did you hear my mom when you got back?”

“Nope. I assume she’s still sound asleep.”

Robbe smiles at that, pleased, and Sander finally grants him a kiss, slow and sensual until Robbe makes a needy little sound and squeezes his hands. Sander releases his hands and Robbe immediately tangles them in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“How many minutes do we have to make up for?” Sander asks him.

“Too many to waste time calculating now. We just have enough time to make sure you don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Robbe winks at him, and Sander huffs and goes in for another kiss, but Robbe is already moving. Sander half expects to be rolled over again, but instead Robbe just shimmies down, licking and biting his own way along Sander’s neck before heading lower.

Sander’s arms tremble with the effort of keeping himself up when Robbe’s lips close around his nipple. He draws his pillow over to bury his face in it as Robbe works a mark into his chest, rolling the opposite nipple under his thumb. Once he’s pleased with his work and Sander’s mumbling his name, he makes his way further south.

The following minutes are quite memorable indeed.

~^~

next

[millysaurusrex]

Oath

Ash falls from the sky and Arya can’t help but think of how it looks like snow. White and pure as it coats all around her. If she wanted, she could imagine she is in Winterfell, in the summer snows, laughing with her brothers as they tossed snowballs at a scandalized Sansa, with mother and father laughing. But, she is not in the north and mother and father and Rickon and Robb are gone. She is in King’s Landing, or perhaps one of the seven hells, and she leans against the stone wall as smoke and ash blanket the city streets around her. 

How had she gotten here? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. Sandor. She remembered the Hound marching with her into the Red Keep. Remembers him stopping her, begging her. Live. Live. Choosing to live. 

Then chaos.

Screams of men, women and children burning alive echo in the air, still warm from dragonfire. Swords. She can still hear swords. Men shouting. Death. She thought the House of Black and White had shown her death, but here in King’s Landing is the temple of death. Where father died. Where her sister’s innocence died. Where all men died. 

Valar morghulis.

But, like this? If this was the God of Death’s plan, well -

She yelps as she’s pulled from the alleyway. A chainmail fist knocks into her her face splitting her lip, and thrusts her against the corner of the wall. More blood rushes down her face, but she grabs Needle, swings it around to meet the Lannister soldier’s sword. He looks manic. Primal, like an animal. He’s screaming at her, slamming his sword down over and over. 

He is not particularly strong and any other day, Arya could have easily overpowered him. But she’s lost so much blood already, and her lungs hurt with the taste of ash and smoke. Anger - or fear - have strengthened the Lannister man, and he catches her with his sword, ripping into her side. It stings as sweat and dirt seep into the wound, but she doesn’t stop. She isn’t going to die here in King’s Landing. Not when she promised the Hound she’d chose life. Not today.

Her muscles ache but she meets each of his blows, counters them, hits him with all her strength. He kicks her hard in the chest and she stumbles back. Needle slips from her hand. She’s quick though, and she reaches for her discarded sword. But then there is a sudden sickening crunch of bone, and the Lannister soldier falls dead to the ground. His skull is mush in his helmet, blood pooling into the dirt below. 

Arya glances up and her breath catches in her throat, because she did not expect this. He’s as tall and as broad as he’s always been, but he looks different, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he’s covered in dirt, blood and ash, or if its because of the stag sigil stitched into much finer leather armor than he’s ever worn. 

He knocks his war hammer into his left hand and offers her his right, pulling her up with ease. She opens her mouth to thank him, to maybe quip sardonically that she had the guy, the way she might have when they were two children on the run. But, the words die in her throat because he’s pulled her to him, embracing her in a one armed hug. 

It feels good which is ridiculous because they’re standing in the middle of a massacre, but she allows herself, just for a second, to revel in the feeling of his arm around her.

The moment is over as quickly as it began, as a voice calls, “Lord Gendry.” 

She notices them then, a small circle of soldiers circle them, on guard for another Lannister or maybe a dragon. They bear the same stag sigil Gendry wears. Stormlanders. His men.

The thought of Gendry with his own men is almost laughable, and if the world wasn’t ending right now she might have, but Gendry pulls away from her and nods. “They’re burning the city down. The dragon queen’s army, they’ve...” he visibly swallows and she ridiculously wants to reach out and touch that place on his throat. Perhaps she’s delirious from the blood loss, but his words snap her to. She saw what the dragon queen’s army did. Saw what the northmen did. Did he -

“No one is massacring anyone on my watch,” Gendry says, as if reading her mind because of course he knows what she’s thinking. She smiles fondly and glances at his men.

“The gates of the city are blocked. We’ll have to find another way out.”

Gendry nods again, grips his hammer and says, “There is another way. Follow me.”

And his men don’t hesitate to follow. They follow him the way northmen followed father. The way they follow Jon. And Gendry is every bit a lord then. A storm lord. Perhaps, a rightful heir to the throne in another life. 

You will marry a king and rule his castle...

She smiles at the memory. That’s not her. But, that’s also not him. He is Gendry, lord or not, and he’s followed her enough. She will follow him now.

**

Jon killed the dragon queen. Put a sword into her heart as they embraced. Or so she’s heard. It must be true, because the surviving dragon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon.

She wanted to march into the dungeons where he was being held, dare her army captain to even try and stop her from rescuing her brother - cousin, but she doesn’t. Jon has chosen his fate. So has she.

She sits in the tent and cleans her sword. There is no need for battle right now, but she does it all the same. It calms her mind. 

The city had nearly burnt to the ground with all it’s people in it. The dragon queen had taken the iron throne with fire and blood. Arya snorts. Old nan always said that history has a nasty way of repeating itself. 

The tent pulls open then and Gendry makes his way in. He’s managed to clean his face a bit, but his leathers are still caked in ash and blood. In an odd way, it’s fitting. She wonders briefly if this was how his father might have looked, many moons ago. Tall, strong, dangerous. Handsome even.

“They’re looking for you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to ask. She’s in charge of what’s left of the Stark army now that Jon is incapacitated and Sansa’s in the north. 

“They can wait,” she responds. 

Gendry only nods and makes his way across the tent. She watches him as he rifles through a stack of letters on the makeshift desk and rolls her eyes. She didn’t realize he could read. 

If he can, he must not understand what is in the scroll, because his face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s thinking hard, and it has her sighing and sheathing Needle before making her way over to him. She places out a hand and raises a brow.

Gendry rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ve been a bloody lord for all of two moons. Haven’t really had time to learn the little things, now have I?”

Arya shakes her head, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than that, if you plan to rule a castle, Lord Baratheon.” It’s teasing, and it gets the proper response, because he’s smiling back at her, the first smile she’s seen since that freezing night in Winterfell.

“Yeah, Lord Baratheon. Can’t order me around now, can you, Lady Stark?”

“I never order you around.”

That earns a full chuckle form him. The sound is gentle, like music after all the screams and death.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since we met. How’d you think I knew you were a rich girl? Always so bossy.”

She laughs, too, and it feels strange to be laughing in a place like this. After what they’ve just witnessed. 

“Now you’re the one bossing around men.” 

Gendry sighs. “Don’t bloody know why. I’m no war strategist. I’ve never lead anyone into anything before, much less a war. Felt like an idiot trying to convince a bunch of men I’d never met before follow me into battle under orders of a queen they didn’t acknowledge.”

“But they followed you,” She adds.

“Aye, some.” He runs a hand down his face and looks exhausted. She supposes they all are. “Not sure why they did it either.”

“I told you, you make a wonderful lord.”

He pauses and looks at her and she steels herself because this is it, this is when they’re going to discuss what happened in the Winterfell grain store what seems like ages ago.

“Aye, a wonderful lord. But, still an idiot.” He sighs again before falling heavily into a chair at the desk. “What I said that night...it was stupid. All these years, I’d like to fancy that I knew you better than I’d known anyone. You’re no lady, and you’d certainly never be mine.” 

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust herself to say a word. She just kneels before him, touches his face the way she did that night. She studies him, taking in the new scars that litter his face. There’s one above his eyebrow, identical to hers, and dried blood crusts there. There’s another one on the left side of his jaw, deeper and still an angry red. She runs her finger along it gently, and he shivers beneath the touch.

“Arya,” its a whisper, almost a prayer, and she tilts her head up, kisses his sweetly. She won’t say it. She’s never been good at words. But, she tells him all the same, as she deepens the kiss, spilling all of the words and feelings that would never come out right if she tried. It is a confession. A proposal. An oath. But, he understands. He’s always understood.

He knows her better than anyone else.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

physical touch - jaime

Jaime x Brienne + love languages based off @observedchaos post

NSFW

For @naomignome and specially dedicated to @forbiddenfantasies1

*

Riverrun

Negotiations with the Blackfish are at a stalemate. 

This was a thrice damned stupid mission anyway. Emmon Frey could not command a mouse. Perhaps Jaime could install Aunt Genna in his place. 

“There’s the Tarth woman,” Daven suggests as a last resort. The sun is starting to set and Jaime was expecting to pick up negotiations the next day, but he perks up hearing her name. 

“Yes, bring her. Now.” Brienne is the one who convinced Catelyn and Robb Stark that they might get more out of him if he wasn’t held in a dank cell for a year. Being able to bathe, change into clean clothes, and eat regular meals did not do much for the Starks in the long run, but it served him quite well. He tries to swallow the smirk stretching across his face.

When Brienne is delivered to his tent, he has an assortment of food laid out across the table. “I’ve heard Riverrun’s sources have been severely depleted, so I thought you might wish for a real meal.” 

There’s almost a snarl in her voice when she replies, “I am well fed, ser.” Her stomach quickly betrays her, letting out a loud growl. 

He bites back a laugh, gesturing at the table. “Have a seat. Would you care for some wine?” He is already tipping the jug towards her cup when she covers the goblet with her hand and wine splashes across her skin. It runs down her arm, a red splotch appearing on the sleeve of her tunic. Jaime apologizes for his clumsiness, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand in his own to carefully clean it with a napkin soaked in water. Glancing up, her blue eyes burn into his, a different kind of hunger building there. Good. When her hand is washed clean, he slowly stands, stepping behind her chair and leans over her shoulder, mouth near her ear. “Should we get you out of this shirt? It will stain, my lady.” 

Brienne makes a choked noise in her throat. “You are in quite a hurry, ser.”

“Am I? Perhaps the letters you wrote have not sated me.” The familiar blush rises in her cheeks. “Did mine sate you, my lady?” his voice dips low, breath along the back of her neck. 

“Not as well as your mouth, my lord.” Jaime lets out a delighted laugh because gods, he has missed her. She pushes back her chair and then steps into him, their bodies colliding. It is fierce and harsh, teeth and tongues, and the familiar fire burns in his belly.

His hand fists in her hair as she nips and nuzzles at his neck. “Do you have, ahh,” he sucks in a breath over his teeth. “A proposed offer?”

She chuckles against him, lips buzzing along the column of his throat. “After,” she hisses, biting down on a tendon in his throat. 

“Fuck,” he breathes in sharply through his nose. Jaime loves the marks she leaves. They may be stuck on opposite sides of this war, but they are well-suited at discovering all of the ways they can still lay claim to the other. Brienne sucks at the skin, tongue darting out to soothe the bite. 

When she pulls away, Jaime presses a bruising kiss to her mouth, knocking them back towards the table, where a dish crashes to the ground. They both freeze, expecting one of Jaime’s guards to rush in and catch them in each other’s arms. But no one comes. 

“I suppose I should talk to my guard,” he finally says. “It seems they want me dead.” 

Brienne laughs. “Maybe it was only loud to us.”

“They will have no doubt about who is being loud in a few minutes, my lady.” 

“If you mean yourself…” she trails off, a playful look in her eyes which stuns him speechless before he is kissing her again and guiding her towards his desk. 

Brienne perches on the edge, widening her legs so he can stand in between them, untying the laces of her tunic and leaving a mark of his own along her collarbone. She runs her fingers through his hair, his head bent intently to his work when she wraps her legs around him, pulling him close enough to feel the heat of her cunt. He moans against her skin and she rocks her hips against him, the hard ridge of his cock digging into her thigh. “My lady,” he breathes, her movements forcing him to momentarily stop his admiration of her freckles, her skin.  

Her hands fall quickly to the laces on his breeches. “You did not let me finish my meal,” she chides him. His trousers pool around his ankles and Brienne’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. Seven hells. “Perhaps I am still hungry.” Her eyes travel up to his as she takes his cock in her hand. 

“Brienne,” Jaime hisses. “Not here.” The desk is directly across from the opening of the tent and anyone could see, but there is a chair and an area underneath which would be hidden from view. “You test me,” he murmurs against her lips, catching her in an open-mouth, hurried kiss. Tugging at her wrist, he brings her around the desk, gesturing to the space underneath. 

“You do like to play games.” But she obeys him, fitting herself into the space. Seeing what she is willing to go through to be with him only makes him want her more and by the time he moves his chair closer and finally sits down, he is nearly crawling out of his skin. 

There is less light streaming through the tent now with the sun dipping below the horizon, but Brienne more than makes up for it with touch, taste, and feel. She smoothes her hands over his thighs, trying to relax and soothe the tension from his muscles, a sweet gesture that she has to know she will undo in minutes. Her thumb strokes along the underside of his cock, his whole body reacting to her touch. already prepared to slide under the desk with her. He can make out the lightness of her hair, her pale skin as she flicks her tongue across the head, making him clench his ass against the wooden chair, a contented yes already falling from his lips. When she finally takes him in her mouth, he grasps the arms of the chair and stifles a groan. 

He can easily imagine the pleased look on her face, her head bobbing up and down his length, the wet pop as she releases him. There is a deep inhalation of breath in the moment before she takes all of him in. Her other hand caresses and gently squeezes his balls, causing his hips to thrust towards her. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, hand reaching for her hair, fingertips running gently through it. 

Her breath is hot along his shaft, tongue darting out to taste him. “Wait,” she nudges at the back of his knees, her strong hands pulling him towards the edge of the chair. It feels precarious, but he trusts her. She presses a kiss to the top of his thigh. “Try again.” 

This time when she takes him in her mouth, it unleashes a growl at the back of his throat. His fingers fan out along her jaw, feeling it move as she does, wet and warm around him. “May I?” She nods and his eyelids flutter closed as he thrusts forward. “You are so good, so good,” he murmurs, getting closer and closer as he slides in and nearly all the way out of her mouth, hand grasping at her hair when he thinks she is going to let go of him completely. Brienne murmurs in understanding and the buzz of her mouth sends shivers up his spine. 

All of it is so much better than what he imagines when he reads her letters, much more satisfying than when he takes himself in hand, trying to remember what she felt like wrapped around him, what she tastes like when he is buried in her cunt. 

The heat in his stomach unspools faster now, in time with her mouth and his hips twitching against her. His muscles tighten in the moment before, begging, “Now, now” and then he is spilling into her mouth. She hums as she licks him clean and when she emerges from the darkness of the desk, the corner of her mouth ticks up into a satisfied smile. “I’ve missed you.” His muscles feel like putty but he reaches for her. He will always reach for her, no matter how many enemy lines he has to cross. 

“I should go back,” Brienne tells him softly. 

He shakes his head, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “Not if you spent the whole night negotiating.” 

A pleased expression crosses her face as she bends her head to kiss him. “If that is what it takes.” 

“It most certainly does.” 

*

When he wakes next to her in the early light of dawn, they have come to no better solution. He peppers her neck with kisses, waking her slowly, gently, until the two of them are moving together once again. 

If he is to send the Tullys to the Rock, she will travel with them and he will return to King’s Landing. He clings to her tightly, knowing it may be the last moment for some time, trying to memorize her, so he may carry her with him somehow. 

“What if…” she says, lying next to him, hand tracing down his chest. “We use the Stark girls to negotiate.” 

“How? We do not have them.” 

“We could. You and I.” The promise they each made to Catelyn, which Brienne tried to get him to uphold when she returned him to King’s Landing. Her generous offer to travel with her, a way for him to escape the city for even longer. He had wanted to then, but even more so now. 

Jaime covers her hand with his own, fingertips circling over the rough skin of her knuckles.“I could not hold the men here.” 

“Then send them onwards, to Pennytree or Blackwood or wherever you are ordered to go next. Daven can command them.” It sounds so simple coming from her, such an honorable plan, but there will be questions he will have to face. She is worth it. 

“If this works, my lady, you will forever have my utmost respect.” 

Her eyes flash. “I did not already?” She clicks her tongue as she sits up and swings her leg across his hips. “That will not do, Lord Commander.” 

As she runs her hands up his chest, he is already coming apart at the seams. “You do. Brienne, you do.” 

*

Author’s Note: This could work in place of show s7 tent scene, but I was thinking of it as a canon divergent possibility in the books, where Jaime and Brienne’s trip to KL results in them having a relationship and then Brienne returns to the Tullys rather than seeking out Sansa on her own. So read it whichever way most appeals to you!

[seancekitsch]

Can you do number 11 with your modern AU Theon? I loved the first one you did with him!

ahhhh im so glad you loved it bc i did too!!!!

Secret relationship

Hiding Theon from your roommate was harder than you thought. More than once had she called her brother and his phone rang on high from your bedroom, the two of you struggling to silence it before she heard. As far as she knew, you helped him home from the bar one night four months ago and you and he fell asleep on your couch all day after waiting for a car repair service to help jump your car. As far as she knew that was the last time you saw him.

But you bonded waiting in your cold little car until dawn; He wasn’t just Yara’s brother who she had hushed hour-long phone calls with in her room. You’d gone on a few dates: out for dinner, a walk along the pier near the river, one night at his house where he and his roommate Robb welcomed you in happily as you ordered take out and had a movie marathon. Then it faded into less dates and more just being at each other’s side whenever possible. You were falling for him, hard and fast. Yara knew you had a boyfriend, but she definitely didn’t know who. She thought you were hiding him until you felt it was something that would last, which isn’t entirely untrue. Typically you made a note to not have your friends meet a partner unless it was something that you were serious about. But this new beau being Theon? You have no idea how she’ll react. She might be happy for you, she might go postal, she might move into Dany’s apartment full time and leave you with the lease. 

“I think we should tell her,” Theon mumbles against your bare shoulder. This was quickly becoming one of your favorite activities, snuggling with Theon shirtless in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and kissing each other gently. He told you about his scars, at first didn’t want to be shirtless near you, but you didn’t ask about them. You treated his scars like any other part of him with care and gentleness. He’ll tell you how he got them when he’s ready, and until then it’s not your business. You have no idea how thankful Theon is to you for being so understanding and accepting. 

“She won’t kill me?” you ask, your hand rubbing slow circles across his back.

“Nah, if anything she’ll kill me.”

“Are you brave enough for Yara’s wrath?” a hint of a laugh in your voice. You can feel him smile against your skin as his arms pull you impossibly closer.

“I mean, rather face the Drowned God before her but, I think she would be happy for us.”

He pushes himself up to look you in the eye, resting on his elbows. He smiles, and nods before giving you a little peck on the nose, and collapsing again, this time with his head firmly on your chest. Both of your arms come to hug him, one hand planted firmly in his sandy colored hair, the other resuming the circles you were rubbing into his back muscles.

“Okay,” you nod, feeling sleepy, “Let’s tell her. Tomorrow morning though, I’m tired.”

[a-libra-writes]

Spending Your First Time With the GoT Characters

THIS IS THE CUTE SHIT I LOVE. One anon requested first time with them, another how you lose your virginity to them, and i figured id roll it into one or it'd become redundant :p 

In this preference, you'll be with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

Ned would give you the most loving expression as he’d undress you, often pausing to give you firm kisses on your lips and neck. He would be nothing but considerate and would make sure you were comfortable with how he touched you and how quickly he undressed you. He’d end up forgetting his own clothes as he’d lie you down and caress down your body. He’d love just touching and squeezing your soft skin before slipping his rough fingers between your legs and stroking you while giving you firm kisses. As much as Ned would be aching for you, he wouldn’t enter you until you were sufficiently relaxed and quivering with pleasure. Once you were ready and you felt him fill you up, he’d love how you’d adjust your hips and sigh as you’d make yourself comfortable.

ROBB STARK

He’d be grinning like a fool, cheeks red and eyes bright at the fact such a lovely, wonderful person wants him. Robb would waste little time in giving you plenty of kisses and firm touches, eagerly wanting to move your clothes aside so he could feel your skin. The more you’d undress, the more eager he’d become, especially as you’d return the touches. He’d love to grind himself against you first, getting both of you out of breath and taking his time to make sure you’re ready. He’d keep you close as he’d enter you, taking a moment to ask if you’re alright even as he’s breathless and biting at your neck.

SANSA STARK

She would be a little nervous initially, but the worries would slowly melt away as you began to get lost in kisses and touches. Sansa would want to undress you first, taking in your breasts and hips and thighs as she began to slide the clothes off. She’d take her time touching and stroking between your legs, before long she’d ask if she could taste you. Sansa would have a surprising confidence, doubled by you returning the affection and wanting to pleasure her just as much. She’d be so turned on by your first orgasm that she’d just have to push you a little further, giving you extra touches while you gasped from the over-sensitivity. 

JON SNOW

He would try not to be nervous himself, trying to play it cool and “take the lead” so to speak, but as you’d crawl into his lap and kiss him until he can’t think straight, that would go out the window. He’d want nothing more than to feel every bit of you with his hands, stroking the warmth of your thighs and pressing his fingers into your warmth. He’d love the way you’d gasp and squirm and he’d want to use his tongue to make you come. He’d be more than eager to be inside you, but he’d take his time, giving you sweet praises as you adjusted to the new sensations. He’d want to kiss you, and he’d find it incredibly sexy when you moaned against his lips and held him closer. 

BENJEN STARK

Knowing that it was your first time with anyone, Benjen would go out of his way to make you feel like a spoiled princess. He’d praise everything, touching what he liked and kissing what he loved. He’d figure out what flustered you the most and do it without mercy. You’d tell him to knock it off with the teasing, but then he’d get serious, making you come fast and hard with his tongue. Once he licked you clean, he’d have a devilish smile as he’d ask if you’re ready. He was aching to be inside you, but Benjen understood that he had to take his time. Of course, he was more than eager to speed up his thrusts as you’d become more comfortable and beg him for it. Benjen would want you to claw at his back and his arms, not minding in the slightest if you left marks. 

JORY CASSEL

He’d be so happy that you were wanting to be with him, and once he learned he was your first, he was almost adorably determined to make sure it was enjoyable for you. You’d sigh and moan in contentment as he carefully touched and stroked you, leaving firm kisses on your breasts and stomach as he made his way to your legs. He was almost worshiping your body, lost in your scent before he finally dipped in his tongue and made you cry out and rock your body against him. Once you came, he’d still have bright red cheeks as he’d ask if you were comfortable, or if you wanted to stop. Jory would be a bit embarrassed by how you eagerly helped him out of his own clothes, and he’d love to hold you close as he entered you carefully. 

DOLOROUS EDD

Edd would be … conflicted. On one hand, he was ridiculously, stupidly in love with you. On the other, he felt like you deserved so much more than someone like him, especially in whatever dingy room you two could find for privacy. Once you reassured him with a firm kiss and began removing his clothes yourself, the outside began to slowly melt away as you two entered your own little world. He'd want to touch as much of you as possible, kissing every bit of your neck and chest. You're often hidden under so many layers, so Edd wanted to take in as much as possible. As he'd slowly enter you, he'd bury his face in your shoulder and mutter a string of sweet praises. 

MANCE RAYDER

It was obvious by the way he looked at you that he cherished and desired you, but Mance also understood boundaries. When you started to straddle him while you made out and guided his hands under your clothes, he was more than happy to oblige you. He'd kiss and leave hickeys on your neck while he pulled your clothes away, complimenting your lovely body. He loved the blush that crept on your cheeks as he teased your body and slipped his fingers between your legs, getting you wet and clinging to him before he led you to his cock. Between an encouraging smile and heavy breaths, he’d encourage you to ride him at your leisure and chase your pleasure first. 

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

He’s thought so much about being with you, but he never thought someone as fiery and lovely as you hadn’t been with someone before. Tormund felt like you were giving him something precious, and he just knew you had to be taken care of properly. He made sure your shared tent was full with comfortable furs and a warm fire, and he had a surprisingly tenderness as he undressed you and massaged the knots from your muscles. While he was fine with you undressing him, he made sure you were lying back like a spoiled cat so he could kiss your thighs, leaving little bites and pleasuring you until you were grabbing his hair and filling the tent with your moans. He’d want to keep going, too - giving you a second orgasm before he was pulling you into his lap, peppering kisses all over your neck and asking if you were ready for him. 

THEON GREYJOY

Theon would have the most smug look on his face when you told him, assuring you that he knew all along, and he was absolutely going to give you a “night to remember”. You punched his arm and he laughed as he reassured you. Theon would want to kiss you everywhere and left several love bites as he’d gradually undress you. He’d start to lose his attitude as he took in your body and flushed cheeks, surprised such a pretty, well-born girl like you wanted to be with him at all. His hands would greedily explore every bit, and his lips would do the same. He’d eat you out with a ferocity that dissolved you into gasps and shudders, then ask if you’d like more. It was hard to keep his smug attitude when he was too flustered over how flushed your cheeks were and how content you were.  

YARA GREYJOY

All Yara could do was smirk. While she was taken by some surprise, she liked that you told her matter of factly, with no shyness or shame. She decided to make it a memorable night for you, pulling you into her lap as soon as you both entered her captain’s quarters, She had all sorts of fun, leaving hickeys on your neck, teasing your body through your clothes before finally slipping her fingers in. Even then, she kept denying your pleasure, taking her fingers away just as you were about to finish. By the fourth time she did this, you irritably told her to hurry up, which you quickly realized was a mistake. Yara flipped you over, pinned you down and wickedly asked what her dear lover wanted. You’d end up begging for it several times by the time the night was over.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Dany was pleased when you told her, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t until you were comfortable and wanted to spend an evening with her that she realized it. She remembered being so afraid when her first time came. She didn’t want you to feel a fraction of that fear. Dany would spend some time touching your body as she removed your clothes, giving you light kisses and taking her time to ensure you were comfortable. She wanted to both explore your body and let you take in all the sensations. Once she reached between your legs, she loved feeling your wetness and how you gasped with her lightest touches. Even after you’d come with her fingers, she’d ask if she could use her mouth next, and you noticed after both times she was very pleased with herself. 

JORAH MORMONT

While he’d have a fleeting moment of worry about your age difference, and if he really deserved someone such as you, he was quickly filled with adoration as you assured him that you wanted to be with him. Jorah would seat you in his lap and give you long, deep kisses as you touch his body as you pleased. Once you were comfortable, he’d undress you himself, earnestly telling you how beautiful and sweet you were. He’d end up flustering you with how he was so genuine with his praise. Jorah would want to taste you almost immediately, kissing you straight down to your legs, and pleasuring you until you were a quivering, gasping mess. By the time he pulled you back into his lap and thrust inside you, you were clinging to him and grinding your hips to take him deeper. 

MISSANDEI

She hadn’t had much experience herself, and none of them were particularly good memories, so in a way it was like you both were having a new experience together. Missandei liked to think of it that way. You both took a long bath together first, full of playful touches and deep kisses, before helping each other dry off and heading to your warm bed. Missandei liked holding you close so she could feel your heartbeat together with her’s, and when she touched between your legs, she loved how eager and sensitive you were. She thought your orgasm was the loveliest thing, the way you moaned and gasped, and she’d ask nicely before using her tongue to give you another. You wanted to do the same things to her, although she wouldn’t pressure you, and you thought it was cute how much she touched and patted your hair as she got closer to her own orgasm.

TYWIN LANNISTER

Having wanted you for some time, Tywin had already thought of how to make you comfortable. As he removed your wedding dress, he’d run his hands along your sides and down your back, occasionally kissing your neck and shoulder to make you shiver. Once you were bare before him, he’d stroke your thighs and kiss your breasts, then slip a hand between your legs. His fingers would stroke slowly and firmly, making you arch your back and hold onto him. The whole time, Tywin would admire your flushed cheeks and bright eyes, but he’d say nothing as you came undone in his arms. Once you’d caught your breath, he’d squeeze your hips and take you with a pace that was just as steady, but deep enough to draw several moans from you. It was slow enough not to hurt, but you could still feel every inch. The closer you were to another orgasm, the more he’d pick up the pace and encourage you to keep saying his name. 

TYRION LANNISTER

He loved you with all his heart, and he still felt like it was a dream that a kind, beautiful girl like you still wanted to be with him. He’d long decided that he would spoil you rotten. Tyrion took his time undressing you, praising your sweetness all the while, planting kisses on all his favorite places, which was most of your body. He’d still want to make you laugh, because he just loved that smile, but once he began touching you he wanted your moans instead. He’d touch and lick you with confidence, curious to what you would like best. He’d want to be in you as soon as you came down from your first orgasm, but he had the sense of mind to hand you a drink and ask how you were doing. After a shower of more kisses, he’d part your legs again and lose himself in how sweet and warm you felt. He’d still touch you, over sensitive or not, wanting you to come around his cock.

JAIME LANNISTER

Jaime thought you were joking at first, he’d seen so many suitors after you, he was sure you’d had your pick before you two were together. He was cocky, insisting that he’d spoil any other man for you, and you just scoffed and pulled him into a deep kiss. As he began undressing you and relishing in the gasps you’d make when he squeezed you, Jaime started to become quieter. He noticed how you’d look at him with such anticipation -  no, love - and how his touches made you shiver. It was new and exhilarating, but a strange, protective feeling came over him. He pulled you into his arms as he touched between your legs, whispering all sorts of sweet and filthy things at once. He had a sudden urge to come with you, so he’d eased himself inside and held you possessively until you two cried out together.

SANDOR CLEGANE

It made him damned nervous. In fact, he was probably more nervous that you - you actually wanted him, you held his face and kissed him with such affection that it was frightening. You reassured him it’s what you wanted, and as much as he grappled with it, he was already greedily pulling at your dress and dragging you to bed. The more you touched him so tenderly and became needier for kisses, the more possessive he became. He squeezed your ass tightly as he bit at your neck, wanting to leave bruises and hickeys, loving to hear how breathless you were. He loved stretching you out with his calloused fingers, feeling how you’d clench against him and slick his palm up. He didn’t want to admit to himself how much he loved hearing you cry out his name as you came. He wanted you in his lap when he thrust into you, wanting to really hold you close, as if you’d leave at any second. 

BRONN OF BLACKWATER

Bronn already knew you didn’t have much experience in this department, and he never faulted you for it. If anything, he tried not to think about how much he liked the idea of “teaching” you a few things. When you teased him about just such a thing, he couldn’t believe his luck, and gladly went to your chambers. He admired your stubbornness and gave you all sorts of dirty praises as he slowly undressed you. Bronn took his time, teasing and edging you, laughing when you told him to hurry up. Groping your ass and licking up your wetness was fun, but surprised himself at how much he wanted to be in you. He let you hold him close, thinking the way you nuzzled into his neck was cute, and relished the breathless gasps you gave as he began thrusting in and out. 

PETYR BAELISH

You knew he would take care of you, because he always treated you with such sweetness, but you hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly. He was just in such a romantic mood, wanting to shower you with gifts and touches, and you could see the eagerness in his eyes when he asked if you were comfortable to let him go further. Petyr removed your clothes swiftly, but he was quick to touch and reassure you, giving you loving kisses and gladly leaving hickeys behind on your neck and shoulders. As he’d touch between your legs and bring you to orgasm, his sweet words would become dirty praise, asking if you liked what he did to you and how much you wanted him. He didn’t quiet himself once he was finally inside you, quickly becoming possessive as he kept you in place and almost begged you to moan louder for him.

STANNIS BARATHEON

He expected this sort of thing, but seeing you on the bed in your lovely wedding gown was affecting the stern man more than he wanted to admit. His eyes kept taking in your shoulders, your lips, the way the dress hugged your legs, and before long he was helping you wiggle out of it. You knew that he wanted to touch you, and you had to reassure him that you wanted him to. It was enough to make Stannis’ cheeks turn a little pink. He lost himself in your warmth, allowing himself to relax, and you felt safe in his surprisingly strong grip. You didn’t expect how carefully he held you, or the soft apology he gave as he slowly thrust in you. You gladly gave yourself over to the new and pleasurable sensations. Afterward, Stannis was unsure how to process these new feelings and thoughts, but he offered to draw you a bath and made sure you were comfortable in bed afterward, quietly asking if he could do anything else for you. You liked the gentleness in his voice as he said this, and he was just as attentive in the  morning.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

As you kissed him firmly and brought him close to you, Davos quietly asked if you were sure you wanted to be with him. He was still concerned about the status difference between you, never mind the age gap. When you’d firmly press yourself against him and reassure him of your love, he’d melt and find himself unable to deny you anything. He’d shower you with plenty of affection as the two of you removed your clothes, and before long Davos became lost in the warmth and softness of your body. He knew just how to finger you and stroke you while kissing your neck and chest, and relished in the way you held him closer and begged for him. As you’d come down from your orgasm, he’d pull you into his lap and murmur how much he wanted you. He’d start out at a slow and steady pace for you, only going faster once he was sure you were comfortable. Afterward, he’d be nothing but doting and loving, tucking you in bed and letting you snuggle into him all you wanted.

MARGAERY TYRELL

She wouldn’t tease you at all for being mostly inexperienced, because she didn’t have much herself. Margaery knew the things she liked, however, and she wanted to try lots of things she heard about with you. You laughed at the mischievous glint she had in her eyes as she gently laid you down. Her kisses were full and loving, although her hands were snaking under your dress. She was matter of fact with her compliments, loving the feeling of your breasts in her hands and the warmth of your thighs as her fingers ran along them. She started to touch you with her fingers, but before long her curiosity was too much and she wanted to use her tongue. Margaery loved how you moaned her name as you came, and you realized you were at her mercy as she kept stroking and touching you. Margaery gave you a sweet kiss to your brow when she finished, trying not to grin at how flushed and breathless you were. 

BRYNDEN TULLY

He admitted he wasn’t so sure at first, wondering if a lady such as yourself should be with an old knight like him in the first place. Still, your insistence would warm his heart and he knew he had to spoil his girl rotten. He’d teasingly ask how you’d like it as he thrust his fingers in and out, coating them in your wetness once you finished. Brynden would assure you that you didn’t have to go any farther if you weren’t comfortable, and when you told him you were ready, he’d smile warmly. He’d hold you close and enter you carefully, giving you time to relax around this thick size. It wouldn’t take long for him to get lost in your body and thrust a little too quickly; he’d breathlessly apologize and kiss your brow if it hurt too much.

EDMURE TULLY

He was confident through your courtship, sweet through the wedding ceremony and a little flirty through the subsequent feast, but once you two entered the bedroom, Edmure suddenly became a little nervous. It wasn’t new for him, but you were more than special to him, and he didn’t want to disappoint you. He began to pull your dress away and marvel in your beauty, his hands eagerly seeking out the places that made you sigh and shiver. Edmure would insist you tell him if it hurt too much while he was inside you. As you’d wrapped your arms around him, he’d give you plenty of kisses and thrust at a steady pace that filled you up and made you shudder. He’d stop now and again to touch you, and he’d definitely want you to come first. 

BRIENNE OF TARTH

Brienne thought she would be nervous when this time came, perhaps even fearful. She  hated thinking about it before, after all. She hardly had experience, but she knew her feelings. She knew she loved and trusted you, and you thought the same of her. It was a comforting thought as you both rested in each other’s arms, your kisses and touches naturally becoming something more. It just felt right as she slid your nightgown down and you began to untie her loose shirt. She loved your reassuring smile, and how those lips quivered when she explored your body. Brienne didn’t think she was any good with flowery words, so she spoke honestly, praising your beauty and kindness. She hadn’t ever imagined how you might come, but now that she’d seen it, she was sure whatever she could’ve thought wouldn’t measure up. You two enjoyed each other’s embraces and company, eventually falling asleep snuggled up together.

RAMSAY BOLTON

He was absolutely delighted that you hadn’t been touched before, or at least, you’d never gone this far with anyone else. He’d say as much as he’d undress you, praising you for being “his” and letting him have this “present”. Ramsay would be quick to toss the clothes aside and take your body in his hands. He’d eagerly squeeze every bit as he’d leave hickeys all over your neck and breasts. He’d actually spend quite a bit of time marking you up and groping you, only stopping briefly to remove some of his clothes. He’d grasp your hips and lick you hard and fast, making you come too quickly, then he’d keep at it to give you another one and turn you into a whimpering mess. The transition to his cock would be swift, which would make you cry out, but he’d thrust slowly after that. He’d want to take in every expression you made, relishing in it, asking if you were pleased and if you wanted him to go faster. 

ROOSE BOLTON

To say he was pleased about this was an understatement. You could absolutely tell by the glint in his eyes when you told him. You teased Roose to be gentle, and you wondered what he had in mind when he pulled you toward him. He’d leave love bites up your neck and chest while fingering you, wanting to hear you shudder and feel you clenching around his fingers. He’d want you to be louder as you came, but if you were quieter, it’d be a charming surprise. As he’d pull you to him and finally thrust inside you, he’d immediately have a feeling of possessiveness and would hold you tight as he thrusted inside you. Roose wouldn’t want to intentionally hurt you, but he’d enjoy the slight gasps and little whines his harder thrusts would give you. Afterward he surprised you with how he wanted to draw you a hot bath - even wanting to bathe you himself - and how he already had clean sheets and a comfortable fur ready. 

OBERYN MARTELL

Oberyn had suspected you hadn’t been with someone before, not that he faulted you for it at all. He was open about your comfort and boundaries, and when you were ready, he promised he’d make it special. Oberyn planned to spoil you, because you deserved the best. In a hot bath he’d massage your legs and kiss your neck, biting at your ear as he playfully asked if he could touch you. He’d stroke you and leave hickeys on your neck, only letting you come once you said his name several times. He’d want to dry you off and wrap you in one of his silk robes, before picking you up and whisking you away to the bedroom. Oberyn would kiss from your ankles to your legs, wanting to taste you and overstimulate you, and only then would he pull you into his lap and grind his length against your wet core. As he entered you, he’d have plenty of praise and guidance, telling you how to move your hips to be more comfortable and asking what you’d like him to do. He’d be so proud of you as you’d become more confident, and he wouldn’t let himself finish until you were fully satisfied again. 

BERIC DONDARRION

As much as he loved to cling to you and spend several evenings showering you in kisses, he’d always told you that he’d wait if you weren’t comfortable with going further. He was happy you trusted him and wanted him for your first experience; you could tell from his grin. Beric would pull out all the stops; showering you in kisses while he touched your body through your clothes, then slowly undressing you and kissing all the skin he exposed. He’d whisper praise after praise, telling you how beautiful you are, grinning at how flustered you’d become. He’d keep murmuring sweet words as he’d finger you and stroke you, loving how you’d cling to him and rock against his fingers. Once you came, he’d eagerly lick you clean and again ask if you were ready. He’d enter you carefully, letting you feel every inch and wanting to hold you close. Beric would keep his slow and steady pace, breathless as he was, and only speeding up if you “asked sweetly”.

GENDRY

He blushed to his ears when you told him you’d haven't actually been with anyone before. He hadn’t, either, but he was so sure a wonderful girl like you deserved something better than the small room you both stole away in. Your kiss reassured him, though, and he asked that you tell him if he did something you didn’t like. Once you both began to undress and explore each other’s bodies, he grew in confidence, only spurred on by your hands running down his chest and arms. He’d touch and feel how wet you were, and with your encouragement, would stroke you with his rough hands until you came. He’d love sinking into you with his cock, almost losing himself right there. He’d hold you tightly and protectively as he thrusted into you, sighing your name as he kept pace.

[magalidragon]

Birthday Signs | a Silent Shadows drabble

HAPPY BELATED NAME DAY TO @aenarsnow !!! Here is your gift I hope you like it! A family fluff fic that totally spoils Silent Shadows but oh well we all knew where that fic was going! 🤣 This will be set between the soon to be posted chapters 14 and 15.

The familiar, early morning strobe light flashed behind Jon's closed eyelids, which fluttered up, taking in the sight of the phone on his nightstand, flashing next to a glass of water, his watch, a book, and a very new addition to the random detritus that scattered from his pockets when he emptied them out on the worn wooden stand.

A baby monitor.

He smiled at it and reached for the device, lifting it up to his ear. It was a very expensive model, one that Robb had purchased for them at the baby shower, which vibrated at the level of sound coming from the nursery. It did not help as much during the night, when he could not feel the vibrations from the nightstand, but he was very attuned to the shifting movement of the mattress and when he felt Dany move at his side, he was up immediately.

This morning it was silent, as was she, hugging Shadow against her chest, the great black wolf fast asleep between them, like a strange wiggling body pillow. He ruffled Shadow's ears and got up, shuffling around Ghost, who popped up quickly. He knelt at his companion's side, nuzzling his nose and stroking along his side, shivering at the feeling of the raised scar underneath the regrown white fur.

It was near a year ago, but he could have lost him. He signed to his wolf, speaking, his throat muscles constricting and vocal cords vibrating, attuning him to his spoken words even if he could not hear them. "You can't leave me, not yet," he said, smiling down at him. He kissed Ghost's head, coming up to his feet and lightly touching the middle of the wolf's back, Ghost walking beside him through the house and to the room across the hallway.

It was still somewhat dark outside, sun creeping up above the horizon, the sky a mottled purple, blue, and black as the light fought the dark back to sleep. The trees were dusted with a fresh layer of snow, courtesy from the storm the evening before. It was one of his favorite times of the year, just after a snowfall. It was a twisted sense of awareness, knowing that when people stepped out into the powder, everything was muffled, all sound smothered out. It was his entire life and for some reason made him oddly satisfied knowing others could sense the same thing he did.

He didn't know what the day would hold-- that depended on whether Dany would try to surprise him or not-- which he hoped definitely not. He hated surprises. Really saw no reason in having anything of the sort. All he wanted was to have his day to himself, as usual. Once morning was done in the house, he would go to his wolves. He was eager to see if Rifle and his pack had welcomed the new wolf who showed up a couple weeks ago, edging nervously into the territory. The wolf was certainly not an alpha contender, but could support the pack with hunting. He suspected they'd be fine, after he'd sat with the wolf for a time and then released him into Rifle's area, thinking they'd go on alright.

After that, there'd be some paperwork no doubt, and he'd stop at Winterfell to inspect Summer's eye infection. Gods only knew how he got that one. Summer tended to just fall into mishaps, just like his owner.

Until then, he would be with his favorite person in the entire world. Save Dany.

Although for all the love he held for Dany, she did not hold a candle to the love he felt for the wiggling little body in the crib, gazing up at him with wide eyes when he leaned over, greeting her with a tickle on her tummy. He signed to her, wanting her to learn as soon as possible, even at the tender age of ten months. "Good morning," he signed, smiling down. He leaned in and lifted her up, chuckling.

The baby did not react to his chuckle, instead squealing-- he felt her chest constrict against his-- she beat her fists on his shoulder and took a handful of his t-shirt, shoving it into her mouth. He nuzzled her head, eyes closing briefly, swaying from side to side. She rarely cried, but when she did, he might not be able to hear it, but it broke his heart. He savored these moments when it was just them, before the rest of the day started.

He carried her over to the changing table, resting her on it gently, smiling as she babbled to him, her fingers moving up. He nodded along, whatever she was saying was very important, he was sure, and he removed the hearing aids from their charger. She whined, not liking it when they first went in, obviously the plastic uncomfortable after an entire night being without, but she soon got used to them. It broke his heart, to see the heavy plastic behind her delicate ear, the tube and wire leading into her ear canal, but once it was in, once he flicked that little switch behind it, her eyes lit up, an entire world shut off to her in the night now at her disposal.

It was something he'd never know, so he was grateful her deafness could be rectified, at least for a time, and she would know the joy of her parents' voices-- such as his was he thought darkly-- the barks and howls of Ghost and Shadow and everything else the world could offer her.

Aly waved her hands again and very carefully, he moved her fingers into the sign, the fingers folded and the thumb out to the side and dragged it from her temple, down to her chin. "Daddy," he said, hoping she could understand.

She waved her hand again and he did it a few more times. She was very young, but anything they could do, the doctors and specialists said, would help her. Babies learned languages by doing. WSL was just another language. Same as Common Tongue or Valyrian, which Dany used with her.

Their baby would be trilingual by the time she was in preschool, Jon thought with a chuckle, lifting her up from the table once both her hearing aids were in and on. She'd quieted, her dark brow eyes wide, searching. Alysanne had almost black hair, but the largest green eyes, which he really loved. They tended to show her reaction before her face to anything.

Just like the day they first had her fitted for them, the audiologist warning that it might take some time, but when they came on, when Dany first said her name, the little girl freezing and then smiling, laughing at the sound of her mother's voice for the first time, Jon almost died there from sheer joy. Such an unfamiliar feeling for him.

He signed for her. "It's my birthday." He was thirty-five. He'd been (officially) with Dany going on three years now. Married for two. Parents for four months. How things had changed from the time when he thought he was fine, living alone in his house with his wolves, content to never speak to another human being again. Even with Arya, sometimes he never opened his mouth, preferring sign over trying to speak.

It was his first birthday as a father, he thought, nuzzling Aly's thick dark hair, carrying her out of her room and to the stairs, Ghost trotting behind them. She wiggled her fingers at Ghost,squealing. He licked her foot, walking ahead of them to lead their entry to the kitchen, where he stopped hard, catching Dany.

She must have been preoccupied, because she didn't turn around, fussing with something on the counter. Balloons wafted up near the ceiling and she'd draped streamers around the kitchen cabinets. He smiled, glancing at Ghost, who chuffed, continuing ahead to nose Dany. It didn't necessarily matter, because at the sight of her mother's silver hair and Shadow, Aly let out a squeal, waving her hands for her.

Dany whirled around, laughing and rushing to him, eyes a little foggy from sleep. "Happy Birthday!" she signed, reaching up to kiss him and grinned. She fell back on her feet and took Aly, nuzzling her. "And good morning!"

"What's this?" he signed, walking up to see that she had coffee set out and doughnuts. He chuckled, noting the wolf bun she must have asked specially from Hot Pie's Bakery. He picked up one of the couple presents sitting beside the pastries and coffee, setting it down to sign. "YOu didn't need to get me anything."

"Yes I did," she signed, adept now at keeping Aly hoisted on her elbow while she used her free hands to sign. She grinned, speaking now, because Aly was wiggling in her arms. "It is your birthday Jon."

He shrugged; it was just a day. He kissed her again, because Dany should be kissed often, in his opinion, and he was happy to oblige her. While she prepared Aly's breakfast, he sipped his coffee and wondered what his presents were. He really didn't need anything. Most all he wanted was for the sanctuary. He finished some of his coffee and signed to her, when she caught his attention. "Taking Ghost and Shadow out."

She nodded, focusing on Aly in the moment. Jon signaled for Shadow to follow, which he did, jumping up and running ahead and outside, the second the door opened to the yard. He pulled on one of the heavy parkas near the door and shoved his bare feet into boots, trudging into the snow to wait for the wolves to finish whatever it was they needed to do. It gave him a few minutes to clear his mind, inhale the cold air, and be in his preferred element.

Not being able to hear, he had heightened senses otherwise. Arya joked he had a super power. It was what he told the deaf children who came to the sanctuary to sit with the wolves. They had a superpower, they could see and smell, they could sense better than anyone else with hearing. He closed his eyes, smelling the pine and fresh snow, the smoke from the chimney. Even the wet wolves, both of them bounding around together. He rummaged in his pocket for the laser pointer, flicking it in front of Shadow, the wolf instantly turning and running up to the house, signalled to come in.

As it was still a regular day, he planned to finish up coffee and breakfast, dress, and head into the sanctuary. There were things to do. He stomped off snow once inside, found Dany feeding Aly, cutting up little pieces of a croissant for her. Somehow Aly already had jam all over her face. He signed, laughing. "Someone is having fun."

"Too much fun," Dany signed back. Jon studied them both, marveling at how things had changed again. He caught Dany's eye and she smiled, shrugging. She signed, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he signed. He shrugged, easily signing something that came so difficult for him before he met and realized that there was more out there, Dany helped him see it. He folded his fingers together. "I love you."

Her face wrinkled into a smile, brow furrowed to keep from crying. She reached for him, when he went over to her and hugged his arm, wrapping around her shoulders and chest from behind, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I love you too," she mouthed, kissing his cheek.

Aly flung a piece of croissant at them, shouting. "Ah!"

"I love you," he signed to her, kissing her head. He waited a moment, lightly stroking her hair. This birthday was different, he felt that in his bones. Even when he'd come to an understanding regarding his feelings for Daenerys, struggling with his emotions and history and being a father, he didn't know until he held Aly in his arms. They could go through so many rounds of IVF, sitting in the doctor's office, crying in each other's arms with each negative pregnancy test, and exhausted mentally and physically. Their relationship suffered.

Then Aly came into their world. It didn't matter if the baby was from their blood, she needed them and she was their daughter. Just like Ned had been his father. He knew that it would be a struggle; Aly would have her own struggles with her deafness, as he did with his, but looking back on his initial thoughts-- he was mad. Aly would hear him-- she'd hear his laugh, his voice, and while it might not be like anyone else's, it was his and he was her father.

He kissed her again and went upstairs to change. Ghost came with him. HIs shadow. Just like Shadow was Aly's shadow. He couldn't help her from the same perspective that Ghost could, but she loved him and he helped her with what he could. Both of them being deaf, not always a great combination, ignoring everything but each other. Which could actually be pretty sweet.

When he finished dressing and came out of the bathroom, he was surprised to find Dany sitting in on eof the chairs by the fire, the embers glowing from the previous evening. They'd enjoyed themselves quite a bit last night, the fire merely providing ambiance-- they'd provided the heat. He sat down on the chair arm, kissing her head, signing. "What's wrong?"

"Open your gift."

"Where is Aly?"

"Over there." He glanced at the bed, seeing Aly caged in by Shadow, using him as a pillow while she played with one of her stuffed animals, ignoring them both. Dany poked him and handed him a small wrapped gift. "Open this please."

"I can open gifts later. I should get to the sanctuary."

She shook her head, chewing her bottom lip. "Please open this."

Jon didn't know what had her so nervous, or insistent, so he slipped into the chair, pulling her into his lap. Her legs slung over his knees, she watched him open the box. He thought maybe it was jewelry, which was weird because he only wore a watch and even then he often kept it in his pocket. He opened up the slim white box and pushed by tissue paper, staring, eyes widening in understanding.

It was a pregnancy test.

He was accustomed to those; he'd been at her side through four negative ones over the last couple years. Except this time, it wasn't negative. There was a very obvious plus sign. He turned to gaze down at her, silently questioning. She was already crying and nodded. "Yes," she said clearly. "I'm pregnant."

The only word he could croak out was: "How?"

She laughed, wiping quickly at her eyes and set the test down on the table next to them. Taking his hands, she pressed them under her sweater, to the swell he now felt in her lower abdomen, which he couldn't believe he didn't feel last night or notice before. So much for super senses. “The usual way," she laughed. She kept his hands on her warm belly and signed quickly. "Mel said it happens. Couples adopt and then get pregnant and there's no explanation. I was so scared something would happen that I waited. I am sorry, but I wanted to wait. I'm sixteen weeks."

That was four months. He knew that they weren't completely out of the woods, but the risk lessened now. He pressed his head to hers, removing his hands and cupping her face, bringing her to him for a long, slow kiss. His heart was so full, it threatened to strangle him. It was all silent; his heart racing in his head, his breath coming in deep gulps. More than once he wished he knew what she sounded like, wanted to hear her voice. He trusted it was as beautiful as her.

The sign worked too. It meant as much to him as the words in English would be.

They broke the kiss, Dany laughing again. "Happy birthday. Daddy."

He grinned. "Daddy," he said, the words hard for him to wrap his mind and his tongue around. It was foreign, the word not something he ever wanted to hear or say. He could no longer imagine a world where that was not a word in his vocabulary. It took a long way to get there; however, and he credited Dany for that. He signed for her, knowing hse understood. "Not without you."

The tears trickled down her face again. He kissed them away, holding her to him, and briefly thought to the first moment they met. That haughty look on her face, shouting at him, trying to touch Ghost-- who was just as amused at her as he was-- apologizing over herself. Then angry, for no apparent reason. He fucked with her on purpose then, because her reaction was so...different. He never intended to see her again.

And he did. Even trying as hard as he could to push her away, not get involved, there she was.

His shadow.

A shadow he could not hear, always at his side, in his way. Silent, silver shadow.

He could never be without her again, he thought, getting up long enough to get Aly, who was ripping at her stuffed animal. She looked up, when Dany said her name, and smiled. He kissed the shell of her ear, just beside the hard plastic aid. "You are going to have a brother or sister," he said to her. He didn't know if she understood him. It didn't matter, but she looked up and touched her fingers to his lips, smiling wide and began to babble.

Dany laughed again, tossing her hair over her shoulder, meeting his gaze again, pure love shining at him. She signed, fingers a blur. "Happy birthday my love, I hope you like your gift."

Not a gift, he thought, nodding and squeezing them both against him. Ghost and Shadow both flopped down together, black and white piles of fur. Jon closed his eyes and sighed, listening to his heart and feeling the other two under his hands. And maybe, just maybe, a third.

FIN

[nbrook29]

Hey!! 108. “I could do that, but could doesn’t mean would.” for the dialogue prompt? 💞✨

Hi there! 😇

Another anon: 7, 8 😇

Another anon: 120, 127 ✨

Another anon: Okayyy so for the prompts :3) “You are not going without me.” and 8) “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”I already know it will be so good!! Thank YOU

So to sum up:

108. “I could do that, but could doesn’t mean would.” for the dialogue prompt?

7. “I’m not jealous.”

8. “ You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

127. “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this…”

120. “Your hair is so soft…” -> already done here

* * *

Heaven. He’s in heaven. Every single muscle in his body is completely relaxed, body bathing in the scorching heat of the sun above him as he stretches his calves, toes digging in the sand, joints popping in a satisfying way, and yes, this is something Robbe could get used to.

He can’t believe merely six days ago he was a bundle of nerves. Nail-biting, snapping, whining, zombie-like mess, overly stressed about his finals and revising like a crazy person. It’s short of a miracle, he ponders, that Sander didn’t dump his ass after being barked at for two weeks straight. Instead, he gave him his space, would just kiss the top of his head everytime Robbe snapped at him for breathing too loud and quietly leave the room so Robbe could focus. 

Robbe would then be so overtaken by guilt that he couldn’t focus anyway and he’d walk to the kitchen, head hanging low, biting his lip, afraid that this time Sander finally had enough and went home, only to find him in his kitchen; making them dinner and swaying his butt to his newest playlist oblivious to the torment in Robbe’s conscience.

He’d walk over to him, quietly, slinking across the tiled floor in his socks the last few steps, and he would wrap his arms around his waist, holding on tight, head buried in between his shoulder blades as he’d mouth sorry after sorry into his t-shirt, sealing each one with a kiss. 

And Sander would be so fucking sweet about the whole thing. More understanding that Robbe could have ever asked for. He'd feed him croques or any other delicious food, smoothing out the frown lines between Robbe's eyebrows with his other hand and Robbe's contrite face would soon be all smiles, cuddling up to his side for a ten minute makeout session before going back to his studying with a long-suffering sigh. Not without a pat on the butt for, as Sander claimed, good luck. The cheeky bastard.

He smiles to himself now when he opens one eye to peak at the person lying next to him, but Sander is not there. Confused, he lifts his head with a groan, squinting against the sun. It only takes him a few seconds to locate his boyfriend, zeroing in on his tanned back, muscles shifting as he hits the ball across the net.

Robbe must have nodded off for a while because he remembers everyone chilling on their towels and now half of their squad is in the water while the other half is goofing off pretending to be good at volleyball, HIS other half included. He recognizes Jens, Jana, Moyo, Senne, and Sander of course, but there’s an additional person from outside of their group, playing for Senne and Sander’s team.

Huh.

She’s a long-legged olive skin beauty, tossing her long dark hair left and right, and Robbe snorts when he notices Moyo and Jens on the other side of the net, following her every move, hearts in their eyes. 

Grinning to himself, he starts thinking about the teasing material they’re providing him right now, and he’s about to turn his head to the other side to catch some sun rays on his right cheek as well when his eyes stop at the girl’s fingers as they wrap themselves around Sander’s arm, traveling to his bicep as she inches closer. There’s a private smile on her face, teeth biting coyly on her bottom lip, and Robbe cocks his eyebrow at the scene.

He rests his weight on his elbow, trying to find a position that doesn’t look too obvious as he keeps shooting furtive glances in their direction.

It’s not that he’s jealous or something. It’s just. She’s standing a teeny tiny too close and is a bit too touchy-feely. 

In his humble opinion.

There’s a pause in the game as one of the boys go to retreat the ball from the water and Robbe watches her hand slip sideways, now grazing Sander’s lean abs, and she’s saying something, but they’re too far for him to figure it out. There’s an unpleasant feeling rising in his stomach and he tries to squish it down but to no avail.

Fuck. He IS jealous. In fact, he’d really appreciate it if some random person wasn’t groping his boyfriend, pawing at him like he’s theirs to touch. 

Just as the realization hits, Sander takes a step back, gently pushing the girl’s hand away and saying something back, making her beaming face morph into a sad frown. Before Robbe can drop his gaze and pretend he hadn’t been watching the scene unfold like a hawk, Sander turns around and looks straight at him. Robbe curses under his breath when he sees the smirk growing on his lips when Sander realizes he caught him in the act. He shakes his head with amusement, chuckling a little as he winks and blows him a kiss before turning back to the boys and Jana and quitting the game, leaving the girl looking after him forlornly.

Robbe closes his eyes as the squinting becomes too much just as Sander jogs over to their spot, flopping on the towel next to him with a groan. 

“I think I’ve done enough sports for a whole year,” he complains, stretching his arms and legs like he’d just run a marathon. Robbe scoots closer, Sander’s body blocking the sun and giving his poor eyes a much needed break.

“Did you win?” he mouths the question against his side, tasting the salty skin as he brushes a small kiss on his hip bone as an afterthought, making Sander squirm at the tickling sensation. He lets out a short giggle, fingers finding their way into Robbe long curls, combing through them as he pulls his own body back a little.

“They’re still playing so it’s hard to say.”

“Mkay.”

Sander chuckles at his slurred answer. “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like that, all rosy cheeks and puffy lips,” he murmurs, leaning down for a quick kiss that pulls an involuntary smile out of Robbe. He traces a delicate finger down his nose, "You're gonna be all freckly tomorrow."

"You love my freckles."

"I do." 

He waits until Sander makes himself comfortable on the sand before swinging his arm over his belly possessively and asking the question that's been on the tip of his tongue.

"So who was that?"

He opens his eyes and regards him from his half-closed lids, groaning internally when he notices the smirk dancing on Sander’s lips as he watches him, expression a little too gleeful for Robbe’s liking.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Robbe huffs in indignance like he hadn’t just been watching the girl touching Sander, grumpy and disturbed.

“I’m not jealous.”

Sander shoots a pointed look at the placement of his arm, eyes sceptical. 

"Pff, whatever," Robbe goes to move it, but Sander is quicker, catching it and pressing it back down, entwining their fingers on his belly in the process.

“Her name’s Leah, she wanted to play with us.”

"Did she make a move on you?" it slips out before Robbe can swallow the words down, and great, now he doesn't sound jealous at all.

Sander seems to be as surprised with the question as Robbe is.

"She did," he replies, turning on his side to look at him, head propped by his hand, "but I told her a have a scorching hot boyfriend who's currently sunbathing his perky butt and being insecure for some reason."

Robbe gets a bit defensive. "I'm not insecure," he mumbles back. "I just don't appreciate it," he waves his hand vaguely trying to find words, "when someone gets too close."

Sander is quiet for a few seconds and just when Robbe starts to regret opening his mouth, he finds himself being dragged across their towels and onto Sander’s chest. He’s not that light though so he essentially ends up with his upper body resting on Sander while his legs are now lying askew on his own towel still. It seems to be good enough for Sander though because he loops his arms around his back, effectively trapping him in case Robbe wanted to get away, eyes crinkling with that smug smile of his.

“You’re jealous of me,” he says it with such fondness in his voice that Robbe does a double take.

“Ugh, you’re enjoying this way too much,” he grunts, pulling back as far as Sander’s hold allows to get rid of the unpleasant twinge in his back.

Sander delicately thumbs at his pouty lower lip, expression still amused.

Robbe glares at him half-heartedly. “Could you stop?”

“I could, but could doesn’t mean would. Let me bask in this unexpected turn of events, babe.”

“Sandeeeeer,” he drags out his name in a whiny voice, first poking at his cheeks and then squeezing his lips with his fingers to put his satisfied smile to rest, but it only makes Sander laugh more. “Don’t be mean to me.”

“Admit you were jealous.”

“Oh my god, okay! I was jealous! She was touching you up and pawing at you with her tanned arms and I hated it, happy now?

Sander squeezes his lips to keep his grin at bay, but a small giggle escapes his mouth anyway.

“You’re the worst.”

“Aww, baby, I promise you’re the only one I want to be pawing at me. And touching me up.”

“Well I hope so.”

Robbe can’t resist giving him a kiss that is a bit too lingering and messy for a sunny noon at the beach, but he feels like staking his claim. Sue him. Sander is all for it, the exhibitionist in him couldn’t care less about random bystanders so when Robbe finally comes up for air he whines and tries to bring him back down, already looking dazed.

Robbe peaks on his left to see if the girl maybe was looking in their direction those few seconds ago, when he hears Sander’s scandalized gasp.

“Was that you claiming your territory?!”

Robbe fires him a smug wink, shutting up his “such a bad boy, mr IJzermans” with another kiss.

[agentrouka-blog]

The Waters in the godswood, death and life.

I’ve been looking at some the relationship between Catelyn and the Winterfell godswood and I realized there’s a fascinating connection between the bodies of water and Sansa and Arya.

She put her hand on his cheek, and held it there while he felt how warm she was. "That is how life should feel," she told him. "Only death is cold."  (ASOS, Jon XI)

Cold and hot water. Two girls half-fish.

AGOT, Catelyn I opens with a description of the godswood, a contrast between the life-affirming one at home, and the gloomy one in Winterfell. 

Opening line:

Catelyn had never liked this godswood.

She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

Among the images invoking night (dark, shadows), unease (gloomy crowded, twisted, misshapen) and death (decay, silence) we have some Arya references: stubborn, needles, no names. 

It goes on:

For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful.

The black, cold pool with its death imagery and the terms “faceless” and “vanished children”, the “long face” recall two things:

1) Arya, a vanished child, and the dark pool in the House of Black and White:

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. (AFFC, Arya I)

and 

The dead were never hard to find. They came to the House of Black and White, prayed for an hour or a day or a year, drank sweet dark water from the pool, and stretched out on a stone bed behind one god or another. (AFFC, Arya II)

and 

Poisons. She understood then. Every evening after prayer the waif emptied a stone flagon into the waters of the black pool. (AFFC, Arya II)

2) Jon and Ygritte in the cave of Gendel’s children.

Ygritte stumbled into the pool and screeched at the cold of the water. When Jon laughed, she pulled him in too. They wrestled and splashed in the dark, and then she was in his arms again, and it turned out they were not finished after all.

“Jon Snow,” she told him, when he’d spent his seed inside her, “don’t move now, sweet. I like the feel of you in there, I do. Let’s not go back t’ Styr and Jarl. Let’s go down inside, and join up with Gendel’s children. I don’t ever want t’ leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever.” (ASOS, Jon IV)

The cave of flesh-eating lost children. With the dark, cold water. What a prospect. The cave and its memory are always connected to death.

So, we have this association of the Winterfell godswood with darkness, death, cold black water - and Arya. 

**

AGOT, Catelyn II, meanwhile, concerns itself with the hotsprings. 

Opening line:

Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.

Catelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.

Again the comparison to Riverrun, this time positive. The hot springs are a contradiction, “un-Stark-like” although they are life-giving and healing. Nonetheless, they are part of the godswood.

Across the godswood, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small ponds. Steam rose from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with moss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with soap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving a loud burp to echo the spring whenever a bubble rose from the murky green depths to break upon the surface. (AGOT, Bran VI)

Hot bath water (unlike scalding hot water) is associated with healing and comfort. 

A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. (AGOT, Bran III)

It connects Sansa to Winterfell, especially:

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. Her maids sluiced the blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, washed her hair and brushed it out until it sprang back in thick auburn curls. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

Or accompanies her castle building. 

She heard the door open as her maids brought the hot water for her bath. They were both new to her service; Tyrion said the women who'd tended to her previously had all been Cersei's spies, just as Sansa had always suspected. "Come see," she told them. "There's a castle in the sky." (ASOS, Sansa IV) 

Or downright echoes Cat:

"I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold."

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer." 

(ASOS, Sansa VII)

And Jon prefers the hot water, too:

The day before last, Jon had made the mistake of wishing he had hot water for a bath. "Cold is better," she had said at once, "if you've got someone to warm you up after. The river's only part ice yet, go on." 

Jon laughed. "You'd freeze me to death." (ASOS, Jon II)

And is equally reminded of Winterfell and the godswood:

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (ASOS, Jon XII)

The hot water conjures images of rebuilding, of castles and gardens, rather than death.

**

So we have the cold waters and the hot waters both in the same godswood. Tully and Stark, life and death. 

Of course, it is Catelyn herself, who has now turned away from life-giving to death. 

Lady Stoneheart lowered her hood and unwound the grey wool scarf from her face. Her hair was dry and brittle, white as bone. Her brow was mottled green and grey, spotted with the brown blooms of decay. The flesh of her face clung in ragged strips from her eyes down to her jaw. Some of the rips were crusted with dried blood, but others gaped open to reveal the skull beneath. (AFFC, Brienne VIII)

Which unsubtly mirrors this - but with an interesting twist:

The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. "Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle.

Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand.

The yellow skull was melting too, and the kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her. (AFFC, Arya I)

Which has me hoping...

"Stupid little bitch." Fires glinted off the snout of his helm, and made the steel teeth shine. "You go in there, you won't come out. Maybe Frey will let you kiss your mother's corpse."

"Maybe we can save her . . ." (ASOS, Arya XI)

… will have a pay-off, when “Mercy” returns to “Mother Merciless”. 

Baby Persephone returns to Mother, and the images of decay and death from the godswood may stop clinging to Arya, and she might return to something a little more associated with happiness: 

The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. (AGOT, Catelyn I)

Like...

She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

And 

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. 

 (AGOT, Sansa I)

Arya in a godswood that celebrates life, rather than death. 

**

Meanwhile the Sansa building Winterfell from snow “in the wrong place” will pay off in having her return to the original hot springs and rebuild there from the ruins, like Jon imagined. Like the original Starks.

Persephone joining Hades, Winterfell rising around her again, like the original did around the godswood. Only this time with a laughing tree.

Brandon Stark built Winterfell around the time of the first Long Night, and its return suggests that whatever happened then was not a cure but a temporary solution. The memory is only preserved in song and legend, the Wall is a divisive penal colony, the dead are marching once more. 

The Starks will have to face the conflict that marked the birth of their House. They will need to do it over, and do it right this time.

Winterfell is in ruins, and perhaps it needed to be, in order to be reborn for a time where “Winter is coming” is no longer a necessary warning.

This:

The green and yellow panes of the glass gardens were all in shards, the trees and fruits and flowers torn up or left exposed to die. Of the stables, made of wood and thatch, nothing remained but ashes, embers, and dead horses. Bran thought of his Dancer, and wanted to weep. There was a shallow steaming lake beneath the Library Tower, and hot water gushing from a crack in its side. (ACOK, Bran VII)

and this...

Of Winterfell burned and tumbled, its people scattered and slain. The glass gardens were smashed, and hot water gushed from the cracked walls to steam beneath the sun. (ASOS, Bran I)

and this...

The thatch and timber had been consumed by fire, in whole or in part, and under the shattered panes of the Glass Garden the fruits and vegetables that would have fed the castle during the winter were dead and black and frozen. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Will turn to this:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.  (ASOS, Jon V)

And they will remember this:

In fact, three acres alone are given over to an ancient godswood, where legend tells us Brandon the Builder once prayed to his gods. Whether this is true or not, the antiquity of the grove cannot be contested. And the godswood no doubt benefits from the hot springs that are contained within it, protecting the trees from the worst of the winter's chill.

Indeed, the presence of the hot springs—which pepper the land around Winterfell—may be the chief reason why the First Men initially settled there. One can easily imagine the value that a ready source of water—and hot water, at that—would have had in the depths of a Northern winter. In recent centuries, the Starks have raised structures that have made direct use of these springs for the purpose of heating their dwellings.

(A World of Ice and Fire - The North: Winterfell)

You know nothing, Ned Stark. Cat was right. The hot water is the point of Winterfell. Blood of Winterfell. Key to the North.

Or, you knew one thing:

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me."  (AGOT, Arya II)

Persephone bringing life and spring, both of them. 

[bijvoorbeeldja]

IG Famous!Sander Chapter 4

DY notice? The POV chapters each begin with the same line. That’s ~soulmate~ energy

Catch up: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

..............

Chapter 4: Robbe

Robbe was buzzing with a kind of nervous energy. 

He’d finally agreed to meet up with the boys at the park — somewhat reluctantly, somewhat anxiously — for reasons he didn’t completely understand. He closed the group chat, his fingers thumbing back to the boy’s — Sander’s — profile before he could stop himself. 

His stomach was doing little flips he did not appreciate as he carefully scrolled through each of his photos. It was obnoxious how good-looking he was. How confident he appeared. Robbe wished he had some of it. He tried to keep his fingers still, stopping himself from automatically double-tapping (oh my god, the nightmare that would be, he thought to himself) any of the aesthetically-pleasing photos he saw. 

God, he was attractive. And talented. And hot. Did he mention hot? But even if Robbe wasn’t up-to-date with the happening on social media, or in-the-know with the whos-whos of popular figures in his town, he knew these kinds of boys. Good-looking, but knew it. Too cool for anyone. Untouchable. So there was literally no point in torturing himself with images of this supermodel boy and his tan skin and his perfect life. There was no point in torturing himself with the idea that this boy was wondering about him. It meant nothing. 

Yet, he was still thinking about it as he skated to the park, music blasting from his earbuds. Why had Sander even bothered asking that photographer about him? There was nothing even remotely captivating about him, even in a photo with nice composition or cool colors. It was just a comment, he told himself. Those social media types were all about engagement, right? 

But despite this script that he kept repeating to himself all the way to the park, his stomach was in knots. Nervous tumbles that wouldn’t let up, especially when he thought back to this morning, when he had been scrolling Sander’s feed. He’d returned to the top and refreshed out of habit. As he did, he jumped slightly as a new photo popped up, recently posted. A selfie. A shirtless selfie. Robbe’s mouth was suddenly dry and he felt himself turning red as he remembered the image. Morning light drifting over Sander’s lightly-browned skin, illuminating muscles and ridges...

Then, suddenly, he was flung backward. He’d hit a bump coming into the park and had landed hard on the ground, his skateboard rolling out from under him. Except, it wasn’t a bump. He’d run smack into someone, who was already talking, apologizing. 

“Geez, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—” but he stopped. 

“Oh. My God.” Robbe said, and while he’d meant his tone to be apologetic — it was him who hadn’t been paying attention — it was those damn ridges, after all… his strained voice came out more...shocked. Because standing over him, already reaching down to pull him up, was a tall boy, with a shock of bleached-blonde hair and a camera slung over his shoulder. The boy. Sander.

Robbe tried to speak again, but his mouth was desert dry and his face felt like it was on fire. Plus, everything in his brain was reduced to punctuation: ? and !. 

“Oh, uhm. I. Sorry,” Robbe finally managed, voice rasping.

Sander was still holding out his hand, but it looked like he considered drawing it back. A dark blush was creeping up his neck and cheeks. 

“No, it’s...uh, it’s my fault. I...I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He seemed to regain some composure, leaning down again to offer his hand to Robbe, seeming confident now. How did he manage that?

Robbe’s stomach flipped as he grabbed Sander’s hand, letting him be pulled upright. He tried not to think about the warmth, the softness of Sander’s palm, the length of his fingers curling around Robbe’s. Was his stomach going to just be an endless tangle of knots? His thoughts an endless !!!! ?

“Are you okay?” Sander asked, sounding genuinely worried.

Robbe nodded and brushed himself off, focusing on gathering his things carefully, as if that would distract his blush away. Sander walked over, picking up his skateboard from where it had landed near a bench and handed it back to him. Before Robbe could stop himself, he heard himself speak.

“You’re...Sander Driesen?”

Sander’s face fell a little, looking sheepish now. 

“Oh, you...you know me?”

If Robbe had been confident enough, he would’ve said, “And you know me.” But he didn’t. He just looked at Sander, face still bearing the blushing results of this entire exchange.

“Well, yeah,” Robbe said, trying to clear his throat. He definitely wasn’t about to mention the many, many minutes he’d spent staring at Sander’s abs. Or that he’d been led to his profile in the first place because his friends had basically Nancy Drew’d his comment from a random photo of him.  Or that he knew that Sander knew who he was. 

“From..you know...Instagram?” Robbe said, smiling slightly. “All the kids at my school won’t shut up about you.”

Sander laughed. “Oh! Well, I guess...I’m sorry about that. I’m...definitely not worth talking about.”

“Well,” Robbe said, shrugging. “I think your 500,000 followers would disagree.”

At this, Sander lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, so you really keep tabs on me, then?”

Robbe was sure his face was on fire. In fact, his whole body was probably igniting into flames this very moment. Goodbye, world.

“Right,” he said, looking anywhere but at the very attractive boy lifting very attractive eyebrows at him. “I guess I better—” Robbe was gripping his board and starting to walk away, but Sander spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry again, ….” he paused, waiting for him to offer up his name.

“Oh. Robbe. I’m Robbe.”

Sander smiled, a deep smile that seemed to reach to his eyes. It made Robbe a little woozy. Was he breathing?

“Nice to meet you, Robbe.”