#iain glen imagine

[shadeysprings]

Wilting Blossom

—Jorah Mormont x F!Reader

Summary: Trapped in the dungeons, the Lord Commander comes to make a bargain.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, age gap, size kink, vaginal fingering, coercion & entrapment. There may be more but thread carefully as this is a dark fic.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week Four Challenge: Across the Universe. I started this event with Jorah and I feel it was only right to end it with him. GOT is one of the universes I love to dabble in and Jorah, if you know me, is the one that holds my heart.

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators! And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

With your hand outstretched, you try to catch the rays of the sun as it trickles through the small window of your cell. You bask in what little warmth it offers, the heat kissing your skin and slowly staving off the cold emitted by the stone walls that surround you. 

But just as quickly, you pull your hand back and push yourself against the wall, hugging your knees to your chest and shrouding yourself once more in the darkness when you hear the dungeon doors open. Heavy footsteps echo through the narrow hall, guards shouting and banging against the bars that confine you and your fellow prisoners, who in turn, retaliate by shouting curses in their wake. 

The tension in the air then thickens when you sense the band stop by your cell, their presence imposing and looming. 

“Unlock it.”

You stiffen and huddle closer to the wall when you catch the familiar timbre of Lord Commander Mormont amidst the low rabble of the dungeon. The sound of keys jingling and the lock going undone, your chest constricting in fear as the hinges of what keeps you separated from them creak as it swings open.

He’s the reason you were thrown into this purgatory. His profession of mercy when he stands beside the Targaryen Queen proves false when he gave no chance to hear your apologies. Though, deep down, you know you’re just as much to blame as he is. 

“Wait outside.” He instructs one of his men. “We are not to be disturbed. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Lord Commander.” Another familiar voice responds, Ser Jaime Lannister’s, but you hear nothing more than retreating steps and the pounding of your heart as you’re left alone with the leader of the queensguard.

His footfalls are slow and measured, akin to a predator circling its prey. You hide your face from him, not wanting to see the demon clothed in fine gold. 

“Don’t hide from me.” A command and you contemplate doing as you’re bid but he makes his impatience known when he nudges you with his boot. You swallow thickly as you tilt your chin up, taking in his tall stature as he towers over you, his golden armor glinting against the light of the sun and his sapphire eyes burning with devious desire as he stares down at you. 

A silent gasp then leaves your lips when he crouches at your level,  “How was your stay here, thief?” He asks, a smirk forming on his lips and you divert your eyes away. “Cold isn’t it? You’d rather be out in the sun?” His tone makes your blood start boiling, anger burning in your chest as he taunts you with freedom.

But your chest quickens when he reaches behind him, your arms instinctively shielding yourself as you expect him to pull out a dagger and give you your sentence right there on the muddy floors of the cell. Yet, the blow doesn’t come, instead, you hear him chuckling, mirth present in his voice and you peek through your arms to see him holding out a loaf than a weapon. 

“Take it,” he urges. “I know you’re hungry.” You stare at the offered food, stomach growling at the sight. “This will taste better than the slop they feed you lot down here.” His voice is calm yet calculating all the same, but all at once soothing, if you’re to be honest with yourself. 

Hesitation fills you, eyes shifting from the loaf and then at him. For you know there are more creative ways to kill a peasant than to throw them under the blade. 

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking.” The Lord Commander chuckles and rips a piece of the bread before tossing it in his mouth.

As soon as he finishes, parting his lips to expose the empty cavern, you snatch the fare from his grasp and bite into it with greed, the spongy texture tickling your mouth and settling your hunger, humming a moan at the taste. 

Ser Jorah laughs once more, his eyes light with amusement as he watches you feast. “There’s more where that came from,” He coos, and you watch him closely when he shifts to near you, keeping the bread to your lips in fear of him taking it away. “Maybe some meat and cheese, lemon cakes too, if you wish. Wouldn’t you want that?” You feel your mouth water as he lists down the items, your stomach rumbling once more. 

“I can give you so much more, petal,” He continues, your body going rigid as dread crawls up your spine when his gloved hand reaches over to caress your arm, the blue pools in his turning darker and you hear his breathing grow heavier. “A warm bed, a full belly, a better life.” The knight breathes, “And you need only give me what I want in return.”

“And what is that?” Your voice comes out in an instant, startling both of you, the Lord Commander’s grin widening at your question. 

“You.”

Your brow furrows and the anger from before returns in a burst of flames, throwing the half-eaten loaf at his face and quickly pushing yourself from the ground and making your way out of your cell.

But such an attempt of escape is fruitless; Ser Jorah easily recovers from your pitiful attack and grabs you by the ankle, making you fall to the ground and cry in pain and soon in fear when he crawls over you, gasping when the length of his arm pins your shoulders to the muddy ground.

“Ah, ah,” He tuts and laughs as you struggle against his hold, nails scraping on the cobblestone floor as you try to get away from him, but you choke when his arm slips to the back of your neck, weeping uncontrollably and begging for his mercy upon feeling his other hand slip underneath your skirt. “Disobedient girls don’t get that privilege,” Hot breath fans over your cheek when he leans closer, crushing you with the weight of his armor. “They are left to rot in cells while men come and go as they please, to rape them, torture them even.”

“Ser—” You cry, “Please—”

“And I would hate to see a pretty flower like you be ruined, watching your petals wilt away.” Your lips tremble when he presses his nose against your hair, disgust blooming at the pit of your stomach when he rolls his hips, feeling the erection in his breeches press against your ass. “But I am a forgiving and generous man, and I can save you from such fate.” He slowly eases off of you and you groan when he flips you to your back, only to pin you down once more with his arm over your chest. 

You lock eyes with him, your mind swimming in the words of the Lord Commander, drowning in them for you know them to be true. How whispers fly across the city of women taken into captivity, treated like whores, and leaving with either a babe in their belly or hanging at the center of King’s Landing.

But should that alone be the drive for you to take his offer? A life of servitude to the knight? A bed warmer? You regale in the thought and realize it makes no difference if one man or several take you against your will because all the same, you’re nothing but a thing to be used, an object to the eyes of the nobles and ones of power, keeping you bound to whichever hell they see fit. 

You’ve heard stories of the Lord Commander, the once Lord of the northernmost island, knighted by King Robert himself at the Siege of Pyke. How he was exiled to the neighboring country for his misdeeds yet found back his honor at the side of the Dragon Queen. 

They said he was a just, merciful, and honorable man, but what you see before you are anything but, for there is no mercy dripping from his tongue nor honor looming in his eyes, only hunger for the flesh—your flesh—and greed for control over the ones who have none.

Still, you are nothing compared to him; a peasant of the city—no power or riches to bargain for your freedom.

“So, what will it be, thief?” He asks, looking up into his sapphires with fear as you decide and give your answer.

That was but a year ago, the dregs of the dungeon are now washed away by the cool waters you’re allowed to indulge in the vast chamber. Your rags, replaced with sheer silk dresses—luxurious as they seem, they give you no sense of decency as they expose everything underneath. But food is no longer scarce, one you treat as a blessing yet such gifts are nothing but a tether to your new prison. 

You sit by the plush chaise, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks that hold the fortress of the Red Keep filling your ears while you watch the strong winds blow against the sails of the ships that come in and out of the capitol. You can’t help but long to set foot on the sandy beaches once more, to bask in the freedom you once knew before being found by the Lord Commander himself stalking in the royal kitchen.

You may have simply been surviving in the past—fleeting through the narrow walk of Flea Bottom and rummaging through the wastes of the highborn for something to eat—but, at the least, you were free.

The door of the chamber swings open and you immediately stand from your perch, folding your hands at your front as you watch Ser Jorah walk in, his golden armor glowing in the afternoon light and you swallow thickly when he flicks the lock within. 

His eyes meet yours and your spine tingles in fear when you see the hunger within them. He unties the belt holding his sword from his waist and hangs it by the hook at the side of the door before slowly walking over to the chaise, measured hand pulling off his gloves and tossing them on the plush surface. 

“Wine.” He says after dropping himself on the settee and you quickly reach for the jug on the table in front, kneeling as you pour a generous amount into the goblet. 

With careful hands you hold it out to him, giving you a smile before taking the cup from your grasp and holding out his hand to you in return. You take it and follow his lead, standing between his parted legs before settling yourself on his thick thigh when he nudges you to sit. 

He then lifts the cup to his lips, taking long and heavy gulps with some of the red liquid spilling from the sides and clinging to his golden beard. As soon as he finishes, he leans forward to set the goblet on the low table before focusing his attention on you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist while his other hand rests on your knee, kneading it before caressing the expanse of your thigh. 

“How are you while I was away, little flower?” He asks, “I hope you weren’t too lonely.”

“The view of the sea kept me entertained, Ser.” You murmur, squeaking in surprise when he pulls you flush against him. 

“I bring you good news then.” He drones, shifting you on his lap and you grab his arm when he presses your back against his plated chest, hooking your knees over his and spreading your legs wide when he parts his. “I sail for Dorne in a fortnight and I’m taking you with me.” His voice is low, whispering against your ear and your chest tightens when he bunches the skirt of your dress over your waist, shivering, skin tingling when his hand skims over your inner thigh. 

“A m-most generous o-offer, Ser—” You mumble, your other hand gripping his wrist as you try to push him away, gasping as an aching need bloom at the pit of your abdomen when he finds purchase of your cunt and rolls a finger against your sacred bud. “But p-people will s-see—the queen—” The words die on your lips when he quickens the movement of his hand, your lips parting, mouth hanging open as you try to catch your breath. 

“I care not of whispers,” He growls against the crown of your head, and you gasp sharply when he slips two fingers past the folds of your weeping blossom. “Everyone should know who it is you belong to.”

He clutches your waist tight, keeping you pressed to him as he fucks you desperately with his hand, the walls of your cunt stretching wide at the thickness of his fingers and the soreness from the night before burning within once more along with the fire of your unwanted desire. 

Words of pleas for him to stop linger at your lips but never leave, your legs shaking as your arousal spikes, your cunt slickening further, allowing him to thrust deeper to his knuckles. His arm on your waist moves, but only to frame his fingers around your neck, turning your head for you to face him and capture your lips to pull you into a heated kiss. 

He swallows your moans, devouring every sound you make and your stomach quakes, making you pull away from his lips when you let out a silent scream as pleasure crashes over you, your eyes blowing wide and gasping heavily when you shudder at your release, coating his fingers with your essence. 

Deep chuckles emit from him and you tremble when he slips his digits from your cunt, your walls clenching on nothing and your mind protesting against the longing of your body. You pant heavily against his chest, daring to peek up at him when you hear him produce such lewd sounds and watch him slip his fingers into his lips,  licking them clean. 

“Such a sweet nectar from the sweetest flower.” He drones and you whimper when he gives your lips one last kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before staggering forward when he pushes you off of him, holding onto the small table to keep yourself from falling to the ground

You hear him shuffle behind you, sounds of clasps being undone, and you startle when he grabs your arm, pulling you to stand before nudging you towards the bedchamber. 

“On the bed, petal.” He instructs, “I’ve given you pleasure, and it’s your turn to return the favor.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

Also, I just want to thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @navybrat817 for hosting this event. It was truly such a joy to write with the themes you've set and I've met such amazing and talented people along the way.

[bethesdaglitch]

I am so fucking predictable. I have a type, and it’s consistent. I just saw a picture of Andreas Pietschmann when he was a bit younger and he looks EXACTLY like a young Iain Glen. I was already thinking they looked a bit similar as they are now—just a bit, but it’s there, I’m sure of it—but when they were younger? TWINS. Someone please validate me on this. Tell me the sleep deprivation isn’t making me crazy lmao

Like… even a little? Maybe? I feel like those specific pictures don’t do it justice side-by-side but I SWEAR I’m not crazy. When I saw that first picture of younger-Andreas I legit thought it was Iain until I read the caption.

[notmoreflippingelves]

Why is it that my rare pair tendencies are not limited strictly to my hyperfixations of the moment but in like 99% of media that I consume? It's not fair. I just get a tiny little urge for like a day to read a fic or see an art for a specific pairing before returning to my main interest. Only to find that particular pairing that my stewpid brain had convinced itself "must be huge in this fandom because how could it NOT BE?" barely exists--if it even exists at all and I have clowned on myself yet again.

[ratuszarsenal]

a sketch of alan breck as I imagined him while reading the book. hopefully I'll get around to polishing it some day.

some design notes:

book-accurate alan would, of course, have dark hair & bound in a queue, too. however, have you considered how great iain glen looked as alan?

if I were to follow the book's description he would be wearing an appropriate french uniform, which one day I might actually research

the feathers in My alan's iconic feathered hat are ostrich and pheasant - this is not inaccurate strictly speaking, but if I were to do a serious illustration for the book, I'd give him an eagle's feather for some nice scottish flavouring

the book - as far as I can tell - does not indicate alan's eye colour. since david describes his eyes as 'bright', I decided to make them light in colour, but intense enough so that they may have that shining quality to them. not a die-able hill and frankly I'm still on the fence about the blue

[clarasimone]

The One I Love (every Friday!)

Summer 1914

Belgium has been invaded by the Germans, their army hoping to make gains across Europe in what will soon become World War I. A small portion of Flanders is still living in relative peace though the Front is getting nearer. It’s where we find our protagonists. On a farm where love will try to prevail.

*********************************************************************

This fiction is very freely inspired by the upcoming film The Last Front, starring Iain Glen. To be more specific, it was inspired by a behind-the-scenes news coverage capturing one specific scene: Glen's character embracing a young woman (as pictured in the poster art which opens chapter 1). This is to say that I wrote my fiction before the release of the film and knowing very little about its story.

What I do know though is that Glen's farmer and the young woman in his arms do not play lovers in the movie. My mind, on the other hand, led me to imagine *something else* because: HEY! 😍❤️🔥🧔

More seriously, the reason might be because, in recent years, Glen has often been cast with younger female co-stars and has developed amazing on-screen chemistry with them, including in his role of Ser Jorah Mormont with Emilia Clarke as Daenerys Targaryen in Games of Thrones.

Therefore, to say that my characterization of the love developing between my 'older man and younger woman' trope owes nothing to Jorleesi would be a lie ;-) This said, I did try to write Leonard with what Glen projected of him from the stills and excerpts I saw. He might also share a few traits with Glen's John Manly from Black Beauty, Magnus MacMillan in The Rig and his John Proctor in The Crucible.

As to the others: Mathilde, in the film, is called Louise. I changed her name to give me free rein and not upset future fans of the film... Adrien exists in the film but I know nothing of his arc and invented his backstory from scratch. The rest are completely original to me.

Finally, I'm dedicating this story to my script-ed extraordinaire, Terisrog. Not only because she's always her fabulous self but also because I might never have branched out in less canon-based writing had it not been for her encouragements and her belief in me. Merci mon amie ! Vraiment !!

Rated M.

[thelextheluthor]

I have a sort of love/hate relationship with Titans (the series on HBO Max) because:

On one hand I could literally not imagine anyone better to play any of these characters like Brenton Thwaites is peak Dick energy and Curran Walters makes baby asshole Jason look easy and Iain Glen is perfect Bruce material and Joshua Orpin gives off Superman vibes and also manages to make Conner feel young and inexperienced etc. There's also a good dynamic between most of the characters and they help each other out and they showing that they're people. They're people with problems and secrets and struggles, sure, but they're people. And they care. About each other. About the world. And the series shows that.

But. It also frustrates me to no end. Incoming huge rant, btw.

(warning- lots of spoilers for the show, mostly season 3 cuz that's where I have most of my beef with, and also i haven't watched s4)

Usually because of little -mostly Batman related- things that aren't really noticable to people not really into DC but are there nonetheless like: Dick is not his fucking legal name. It's Richard. No it's not going to say Dick on legal documents. I'm talking mostly about the episode where he got fucking arrested and they pulled up his file (and showed his passport to I think). Also his middle name is fucking John, people, not that hard to look up. (I'm pretty sure they do the same thing with Jason and make his middle name something completely random, but I'm sure in most if not all canons it's Peter). Just. Richard John Grayson. It's not that hard 🙄🤚 Nobody who is either not close to him or has no sense of boundaries will call him Dick. His (adoptive) father is Bruce MF Wayne. Richard, Mr. Grayson, Mr. Grayson-Wayne, whatever that canon is making his last name, that is what they will call him out of RESPECT, if not to him, to the one name everyone in Gotham knows.

Bruce's age is another thing. I have absolutely nothing against Iain Glen, pretty amazing Bruce, but your telling me Bruce is how old? Iain is 61. Like. I'm pretty sure he adopts Dick in his 20's. It's not him being an experienced adult. He's still young. So he WILL screw up. As a person and as a parent. Same thing for the young Dick flashbacks, like, an eight year old from a circus definitely would not know how to drive a car. I do love how he started off on the path of vengeance, because as a "darker" show, Titans is meant to highlight those parts of him hidden by traffic light colors and puns, but one of his things is that he's pretty much the age Bruce was when his parents died. The kid in the show was no younger than 13 in his earliest flashbacks (again, same with Jason and Tim. These kids showed up looking like high school graduates, which, sure, is young to be starting a life of crime-fighting, but you gotta remember that Jason died at 15 in the comics, and Tim never even graduated).

Another thing is, I really do want the show to introduce Damian, but I doubt that this version of Bruce would be able to raise a kid ever again, probably doesn't trust himself enough to, plus he's like in his 50's so either he had Dami really late or he -like the rest of the bat-fam so far- is really aged up when he starts his whole Robin thing, which also kinda worries me because Tim barely got introduced in the 3rd season and I think he will be Robin in the 4th, so I heavily doubt we'll get murder baby 10 year old-ish Damian. And while being young isn't all Damian is, it's a little crucial to his story because you see an adult who was trained to be a killer and you see them as dangerous, sure, but an adult. Actually seeing, witnessing a child being a murder weapon, knowing that that is all their childhood was, that is pretty twisted.

Also I feel like Dick's whole "prison arc" schtick just wasn't him because dude's whole thing was "adopting strays" and he just up and left a whole ass kid in charge of a tower and a comatose patient & got himself thrown into prison on purpose. Nuh uh. If there's one thing that separated Dick and Bruce personality-wise, I think it's that Dick is the one who helps and loves people from the bottom of his heart. Bruce does love people, but he doesn't know communication or where to draw the line between work and personal life. Dick also has that same problem and we see it, he knows it and resents it because he knows that's a *Bruce* trait, but he on the other hand has a support system, people who care and help. Because that's what the Titans is. And Dick wouldn't up and abandon that for anything.

Again with Bruce, I know fighting crime isn't the best way to raise a child, and that giving a traumatized child deadly weapons to fight their inner demons will leave scars, but I wholeheartedly believe that Bruce was trying to be a good parent. In the show, he's really no more than a mentor. The most emotion I've seen is AFTER Dick becomes Nightwing(in one of Dick's flashbacks, he communicated through fucking letters. Dick was practically alone). Same goes for Jason. This was supposed to be another kid Bruce saw himself in, someone lost and alone. And when we saw his computer files on possible future Robins?

Keeping the roll with Bruce, he does things I feel like neither Bruce or Batman would do. Hell, when Jason died, first thing he did was kill the Joker. That is Jason's whole schtick after getting revived‼️His whole problem with Bruce is that he let the Joker live, even after everything, even after his own son died! Nothing changed to Jason! His death didn't mean anything!

[shipcestuous]

Some hot dads

Two of my favorite shows in the past year have been Silo and Mrs. Davis and they both happened to have shippable father/adult daughter relationships that I wanted to talk about briefly.

Silo is an Apple TV+ sci-fi/dystopian/mystery show that had a ten-episode first season and has been renewed for a second season. The main character is Juliette, played by Rebecca Ferguson. The premise of the show is that a population of several thousand people are living in a strictly-regulated underground silo and no longer have any history to tell them why. The worldbuilding is really good. Juliette is an engineer who lives at the very bottom of the silo and her father, Pete (played by Iain Glen) is a doctor who lives in the middle of the silo. They are estranged and as the season progresses we learn more about why. I'm getting into spoiler territory now, but only about one part of the story.

Juliette's mother and brother both died, and Pete did not handle it very well, putting himself into his work and leaving Juliette deal with a lot on her own. She flees to the bottom of the silo where she can focus on fixing things to get away from her grief. She's only 14 when she goes down there but Pete gives his permission because he knows he can't be what she needs. They don't really stay in touch and the rules of the silo don't allow for easy communication between the “mids” and the “down below”.

We also learn that Juliette believes Pete turned their mother into the authorities for breaking one of the silo's rules, and she has never been able to forgive him.

As the story progresses, she needs his help. He tries to mend their relationship but she isn't interested. However, she eventually learns that he did not turn her mother in, and immediately she wants to reconcile. They have a really touching scene and two very vibe-y hugs.

Especially since someone walks in on them the first time and they back away from each other and act all awkward and embarrassed.

Later hug:

One of my favorite scenes for them is earlier in the season. Juliette is climbing from the bottom levels up to the top levels, and she passes by where her father works. She gives it a very meaningful glance but also very intentionally doesn't stop there to see him.

I'm drawn to ships like this where there's a very organic tension but you can also imagine there's another reason underneath it. Juliette had a boyfriend who dies early on, and aside from that, she and Pete are both loners, and he doesn't seem to have remarried even though it has been 20 years. They're both still workaholics with no lives. They're a lot alike.

I will warn you that Pete is not in every episode and I think he and Juliette only interact in maybe 3 or 4 of the episodes. Saying anything at all about the ending would be too spoilery so I won't.

Mrs. Davis was an eight-episode miniseries made by Peacock. It's also a sci-fi slightly dystopian mystery, but a comedy, and a few other genres too, including being totally bonkers in mostly the best way. The plot is kind of complicated. But the main character is a nun named Sister Simone who wants to destroy a powerful A.I. that is basically running things. In order to do that, she is supposed to find and destroy the Holy Grail. This quest puts her on the trail of a woman named Clara. Clara came into possession of the Holy Grail and also wanted to destroy it, which is no simple task. In order to do that, she sought out the father she had never met, Arthur (played by Ben Chaplin), who is a scientist, hoping he could help her destroy it using his special laser.

Arthur and Clara are the father and daughter I want to talk about but they are not main characters in the series. There's really one main episode that deals with their relationship (episode 5), with a couple of bits and pieces scattered elsewhere. It really amounts to very little, but it's just so good.

Arthur is surprised to learn he has a daughter and doesn't particularly want anything to do with her.

However, due to his skepticism that what she has brought him really is the grail, he makes a pact to help her destroy it, thinking it will be easy and quick. We jump 10 years later and they still haven't managed to destroy it, getting together about once a month to try something new. At some point, it seems like the the destruction excursions became just excuses to spend time together.

I shipped it already, because I'm me, but the moment that made me ship it a lot and want to tell you all about it was when Clara suggests that she drink from the grail, which she knows for reasons I won't explain might cause something dramatic to happen. Arthur doesn't want her to do it, both because he doesn't want it to work (no more excuses to hang out) and because he's afraid it'll be dangerous. He suggests they throw it in a volcano instead, and then proposes a tropical vacation. It sounds like he mostly just wants to hang out at the beach with her. It sounded so much like a romantic couple vacation I almost died. Or more than a vacation. It really sounds like he wouldn't mind just living there with her forever. I don't want to overhype it, but I had to do a clip so you can make your own judgment anyway.

Unfortunately, without spoiling anything, I'll just say that something happens that means that Arthur and Clara can't be together after their scenes together in the show so you can't imagine them getting together later. I'll just have to imagine they hooked up at some point before.

Ben Chaplin and Iain Glen are both, dare I say, DILFs and look quite good for their ages. Their characters have extremely pretty adult daughters and lots of delicious awkward tension. Enough said, really.

[navybrat817]

Not Your Forever is so beautiful! I am in tears! I am on the edge of my bed! My heart bleeds for 135 Steve but also for Hope and Clark and ughhhh! The feels Navy! The feels!! Kicked me right in the feels ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for making suck a beautiful story 🥰

Also, just a quick question, which Bruce did you use/imagine in this fic? The one in Titans or Christian Bale’s?

I appreciate this so much, lovely! 135 Steve is not in the greatest headspace. No excuse for what he is doing. I really need to take that off hiatus and update. 😭

I've kind of left it up to interpretation, but I would picture him as Christian Bale or Ben Affleck.

I wouldn't stop anyone from picturing Iain Glen. ❤️

Love and thanks! ❤️

[riverstardis]

series 32 episode 30:

so i'm actually watching this live for once but i'm gonna wait to post it in order because i've just watched 'when he whistle blows'

oof the 'just married' on the wrecked car is poignant

oh this was directed by amanda mealing!

BEA <3333333

AND RASHHH <3

oh yeah bea's like suspecting that dylan's alcoholism is affecting his work or something

"does dr keogh seem alright to you today?" "does he ever seem alright?" "i saw him outside earlier he just looked a bit.. hungover" "how long you been watching him?" "not long enough" 😭

lmao ethan asking dylan how the AA meetings are going and he's like "you want to know if i'm coping, is that right?" "yes, are you coping?" and dylan just goes "no." and then "but that's rather the nature of addiction isn't is, it's difficult to shake off."

poor robyn :(

poor glen too :(

lmaoo bea speaking to sam when her and iain bring a patient in like "you were married to dr keogh right?" and iain goes "on that note" and pulls the cubicle curtain shut JSDJSDJF

she's asking sam about dylan and louise is trying to tell her that it's all in hand and he's getting help and sam is like "are you insinuating that dylan is an alcoholic?" because she didn't know but dylan overhears😭 he thought that it was only ethan and louise who knew but not anymore!

dylan saying he can practically hear the HR "let's chat" meeting every time ethan opens his mouth sjsjkdsjkdf

"i just want to understand why you drink" "i don't drink! i dunno, the last time, the usual, because there was a y in the day i dunno" "how long's this been going on?" "it's always been going on, sam" :(

"i don't think my latent alcoholism was the third wheel in our marriage!" sjsjjfjf

idk if it's just cause i've only seen a few eps from sam's first stint, most of them from quite early on like pre tom kent, but i really struggle to even imagine her and dylan together

it deffo looks like dylan shares his office with another person, presumably elle. and so the consultant office mystery continues

ethan saying he's going to stick around for robyn and glen..... hey at least they managed to get married before :(

LMAO elle talking about glen "wooing your ex back by getting a job where she works? that was a risky strategy." and it refocuses on iain looking at sam in the background going "yeah, brave man" SJKSDK

robyn saying that glen's her hero and charlotte's hero. and now charlotte will only remember paul :/

aww everyone camping out in the staff room. oh ethan's reading? there's the ethan i know!

rip glen

tomorrow's episode is fucking leigh-anne's first ep🤢 no thank you i will not be watching!

[imaginationcamp]

IMAGINE Jorah always follows you around, because he is worried about your safery and wants to spend as much time as possible in your presence, as well as him being nervous to be so close to you when you are alone.

[shadeysprings]

Steep Price

— Jorah Mormont x F!Reader

Summary: The night you pick your boyfriend up from work is the night when your entire life comes crashing down. 

Warnings: noncon, fingers at play, physical violence, public smut, character death & kidnapping. There may be more but do take caution as this is a dark fic.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week One: I Spy Challenge. The word I chose to incorporate here is diamond necklace with the theme of addiction and setting of mafia. It has been a while since I wrote Dark Jorah so here we are. Also, a big shout out to @sgt-seabass for giving me the idea of the fic as well as allowing me to incorporate her work, Clockwork, into this fic (kindly check that out) and also to my beta, @mochie85. You both are rockstars!

Your feedback is highly appreciated and encouraged. Reblogs would be really amazing. Enjoy! ❤️

The chime of the bell is music to your ears as it resounds through the air upon opening the doors of the quaint bookshop. Your nose, kissed by the scent of the pages, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and warmth, a huge contrast to the cold rain that continues to fall down from the evening sky.

The place is empty, after giving it a quick observation while folding your umbrella close and stowing it in the stand. You hear your name being called from further in the front room, a smile forming on your lips as you make your way to the counter, seeing your boyfriend, Doug, place down a box of books on the ground and stalk over to you. 

His lips immediately find yours, your arms wrapping around his neck. Dark, blond locks fall over his forehead when he pulls away only to nuzzle his nose against yours in greeting. 

“You’re here early.” He says against your lips and you let out a giggle as he showers your face with a few butterfly kisses, his fuzzy beard tickling your cheeks. “I won’t be off for another thirty minutes.”

“I know.” You mumble, your hands sliding down to press against his firm chest, the cotton of his navy shirt smooth to the touch. “And you know I don’t mind waiting. The books are very much pleasant company.” He smiles at your words and you notice how his eyes move down to your neck. 

“You’re wearing it.” He breathes, his hand reaching up to caress the small diamond pendant that hangs by a silver chain, his birthday present to you. 

“Of course, I am.” You wrap your fingers around his wrist while his thumb caresses the crystal surface. “I’d wear everything you give me.” The slight slant on his lips is enough for you to know what he’s thinking, that of the 3 years you’ve been together, the necklace was the first gift he’s ever given you. 

You’ve told him you didn’t need extravagant things, that his love was enough to sustain the emotional connection you have together. But he was insistent, promising the year before he gave you the diamond necklace that he would make it up to you. And knowing Doug, he is nothing but persistent in whatever he puts his mind to—a trait you deeply appreciate. 

“Douglas—” He blinks when you call his attention, curious, blue eyes meeting yours. “Speaking of books, did it arrive today?” You beam. 

“Oh!” It’s as if your question snaps him out of a trance, the smile returning to his face. He takes your hand and leads you to the back of the counter with excitement. “Good thing you reminded me.” He hums as he opens the door of the stock room.

You feel giddy as your feet follow him willingly, each step filled with anticipation as he leads you further inside. A multitude of boxes greet you, each one stacked neatly against the wall and into shelves, the titles of the novels hidden within painted on the sides. And it’s when he stops that you recognize the words staring back at you, your hand moving on its own accord to run against the cardboard surface—Clockwork.

“They came in this morning and are scheduled to be sold tomorrow.” He says as he grabs a box cutter from his back pocket and cuts open the lid. He takes a book from inside before carefully sliding it between your palms.

Your eyes glisten as you stare down at the cover, the silver pocket watch sitting proudly above the black background and you can’t help but run your fingers against the embossed image. You turn the cover open and read the brief summary, fingertips tingling with exhilaration as you’re tempted to flip a page and begin reading the first chapter. 

But you hesitate, as much as you want to indulge yourself in the novel, you wouldn’t want to ruin a brand new copy and eventually not have it sold to potential customers. 

“Why aren’t you reading? Don’t you like it?” Doug asks, and you look up at him, seeing the curiosity swimming in his eyes. 

“I do—it’s just, I don’t want to ruin the book.” You pout and place the copy back in the box only for him to take it out again. 

“I can keep this copy and buy it later at a discount.” He volunteers, pressing the hardbound back into your hands before closing up the box. “But you’ll have to wait after two weeks. I get my paycheck then.”

“I appreciate the gesture, babe, but you know we can’t.” 

You and Doug have been planning on buying a house since last year and have decided to save every penny you earned towards that goal. The necklace was indeed a surprise—a bookshop associate isn’t paid much to afford such things—but he promised that it didn’t cost him more than what he could afford. 

Still, you decided that it would be the last of the luxury you both spent on, and a book this big in the market, as tempting as it is, isn’t worth losing an opportunity to set aside for something much bigger in the future.

“I could probably download an ebook by the end of the month.” You say with a smile, an attempt to comfort him. “I’m not in a hurry to grab a copy.” 

“Knowing you and your love for these novels?” He scoffs, the sound more teasing than insulting. “Or what about I keep the copy and you come over an hour before closing so you can read it?” He offers, a wide grin chiseled on his face. “That way, even if you don’t have a copy, you’re still keeping up with the story.”

“You think Lorraine won’t mind?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He chuckles, taking your arms and folding them over the book, the hardcover pressing against your chest. “Go on. Settle in a corner and read it. You’ll probably get to chapter three before I finish closing up.” 

“But—”

“Go on.” He urges with a laugh, ushering you out of the stock room before closing the door behind him. “I’ll meet you at your table when I’m done, okay? And you can tell me how much you like the book after.” It’s all he says before pressing a kiss on the top of your head and leaving you by the counter to resume his task. 

You stare at the book in your arms, smiling as you admire the cover once more. He does have a point. If you can’t have a copy yet, what’s wrong with reading one in the store? It’s not like you’re stealing it. No harm, no foul.

The excitement returns in full force and you immediately scurry to your favorite table in the shop, your breathing heavy as you take a seat and settle the novel atop the wooden surface. Taking a deep breath, you flip the book to the first chapter and begin reading the text; your mind immediately building the scene, slipping your feet in the shoes of the protagonist, and imagining yourself walking down a pathway with the summer sun beating down on your neck.

You feel your heart race as each scene shapes the story, the first several pages leaving you breathless and wanting, a slave to the author and her captivating words. 

The chime of the bell briefly takes your attention but you’re immediately sucked back into the world at the edge of your fingertips. Your blood is filled with adrenaline as the story reaches a peak you didn’t expect, digesting each paragraph, the anticipation of what’s to come next washing over you in a huge wave each time you turn the page. 

A loud groan then echoes from the back of the shop and you stop mid-read, a sudden sense of trepidation crawling up your spine. You think it was just Doug running the cart to return the books to their proper place but something tells you it's so much more that you close the book with a snap and stand from your seat, slowly walking to where you heard the sound to check on it.

“Babe? You okay back there?” You call, peeking from the shelves. The lack of response renders you nervous for it’s unusual for him not to ease your worry. “Doug?” You try again, your steps slow and measured as you peer at another aisle then another yet seeing him gone. 

You make your way to the reading nook, the place volunteers would read to the children on Wednesdays, expecting to see him tidying up the space. And you do see him, seated in one of the smaller chairs, a sigh of relief escaping your lips before deciding to make your way towards him. 

But your feet falter and a silent gasp leaves your lips when a fist meets his face, knocking him to the ground. Your eyes widen in shock when he lays on his side, coughing violently, blood sputtering out of his mouth and staining the floor.

“Where are my diamonds, thief?” A gruff voice echoes through the open space, the face of the stranger blocked by the shelves. 

“I already told you—” Doug groans as he tries to push himself off the floor. “I don’t have—”

But a foot lands on his abdomen, kicking him harshly onto his back before he can even finish talking. You see the man draws near him, a black button-up hidden underneath a black coat. His ginger, blond curls are messy from the effort he’s exerted to hurting the man you love. 

He lands another kick then another and you grit your teeth in anger as the sound of Doug’s pained groans fills your ears. 

The grip on the book tightens and you take a deep breath before shouting loudly for him to stop, barreling toward your boyfriend’s assailant with the hardbound raised over your head with the intention of sending back a harsh blow. But someone catches you by the waist, pinning your arms to your sides which makes you drop the book at your feet.

“Leave him alone!” You yell as you thrash against the solid wall of chest behind you, kicking your legs violently and squirming to be released. “Let me go, you bastard! What the fuck do you want from us?!” You don’t relent, groaning as you try to escape but pain soon radiates at your sides when your captor tightens their grip around you. “Who are they, Doug?! What do they want?!”

You stop moving when you see the man clad in a black suit staring at you then at your boyfriend before picking the novel from the ground. His fingers kiss the tip of his tongue as he begins flipping through the pages with a curious hum.

“Who is she, Douglas?” He asks without looking up.

“She—she’s no one.” Doug coughs, his arm wiping the blood dripping from his lips as he struggles to get up.

The ginger-blond stranger waves his hand in nonchalance when suddenly, another stands behind Doug, grabbing him by his arm to pull him up on his knees. Fear immediately runs up your spin when you hear the click of a gun, Doug stays still on the ground as the barrel of the weapon his pressed to the back of his head. 

“I will try again.” The man says as he licks his fingers once more, flipping another page. “Who is she and what is she doing here?” He intones, the tension in the air thickening. “She can’t possibly be a customer. Your store has been closed for some time now.” The sound of the book snapping shut makes your heart jump, swallowing thickly as you raise your chin when the edge is pressed high against your neck.

“I said she’s no one.” Doug snarls, his mouth painted crimson as he turns to face you. “Just let her go, Mormont. She has nothing to do with this.”

The man—Mormont—seems to consider his words.

“Well, if she’s no one, you wouldn’t mind if we shut her up then,” Mormont says with a wicked grin and nodding in your direction. Out of the blue, you feel cold metal press on your temple, whimpering as tears begin rolling down your face. “We wouldn’t want any witnesses to our little exchange, now  do we, Douglas?”

“Jorah,” Someone calls and Mormont turns to look over his shoulder. “The necklace. On the girl.”

Mormont’s eyes snap back to you, dark oceanic orbs meeting yours that slowly run down to the base of your neck. Your throat bobs when you feel his rough fingers brush against your skin, his eyes narrowing then widening as if recognizing the jewel that sits at the base of your neck. The book that holds your chin up is soon replaced by his hand.

“I’m guessing you like mafia novels, huh, sweetheart?” Still staring at the necklace, he holds up the novel for you to see, the cover staring back at you. But you keep your mouth shut, too afraid to even utter a sound. “Well, you’re in one right now and I’m sure you’re fairly familiar with how things like these go, am I right?” His eyes find yours, seeing malice laced into his irises. The gun at your temple is removed and he gives the book to the man that’s held you captive. 

Slowly, he circles you like a predator would its prey, your chest heaving and your back going rigid when you sense him stop behind you. His hand finds purchase around your neck, your chin moving upward upon instinct. He tightens his hold and you wince, your hand reaching up to take hold of his wrist. 

“I ask you a question and you answer. Am I understood?” He whispers, feeling crowded as he bends over you, his other hand resting tauntingly against your hip. “Now, be a good girl and tell me where you got the necklace, darling.” 

You don’t respond, your eyes drifting to Doug as you try to seek him for answers. Who are they? What do they want? Questions lingering in your head. But his face gives nothing away, fingers flexing against his thighs and curling into fists as he watches the display before him. 

Mormont tuts at your silence, crying in silence as his hand moves to the front of your jeans, his fingers tapping along the button and the fly, threatening to slide past the barrier. 

“Staying quiet won’t do you any good, darling.” He groans against your ear, his beard prickling your skin when he presses his face against your temple. “Now, I’ll ask again.” His hot breath scalds your cheek and you cry out when he suddenly slips his hand through your pants and panties, rough fingers pushing down further to cup your sex. You grit your teeth and grab tight on his wrist, trying to pull his hand out when he presses his thumb against your clit. “Where did you get the necklace?”  

You open your mouth to speak, to give him the answer he seeks for him to stop. But no words come out, only a silent scream when he slips a digit past your folds, his foot pushing yours aside to spread your legs wide. 

“Stop it! Don’t touch her!” Doug shouts from where he kneels and tries to get up. “She knows nothing!” But the man behind him kicks him on the back, causing him to fall once more. 

“I thought she was no one, Douglas?” Mormont mocks as he fucks you with his finger, your chest heaving as your stomach rolls in disgust with the unwanted pleasure that burns within your core. Your pussy clamps down on his digits when he slips another finger, stretching you wide. “Why does she have my diamond, Dougie?” He spits and you gasp sharply when he adds a third, your back arching against his solid chest as his thumb presses roughly against your clit, his hand twisting in your pants, turning in a new angle to fuck you faster with his fingers. 

Your breathing grows heavy and you feel the room closing in on you as your toes curl from his touch. You cry in desperation, vision blurry as you turn into a babbling mess, begging for him to stop. But he’s impervious to your pleas, your spine tingling and your face heating with shame as your cunt slickens with every thrust.

“S-stop—” You whimper, both hands grabbing on his wrist as you once more try to pull free from his cruelty. “P-please—I’ll talk! I’ll—” The words come out garbled, clogging your throat as moans rush out from your lips.

“I gave it to her!” Doug shouts and Mormont’s hand stills from your cunt, the arousal slipping from your blood. “Please—just stop.” He sobs while walking towards you on his knees. “I stole the diamonds, Jorah. I stole them and gave her a piece as a present.” The confession that drips from his lips is a stab to your heart, that he’s crossed such dangerous men and all for a piece of rock.  

Mormont’s silence is deadly and you feel his chest rumble against your back as he lets out a deep breath. Then all at once, his hold on your neck tightens and you shout in terror when his fingers begin to move once again, choking as he digs his fingers into your throat, the flame deep in your belly flickering back to life. 

“You take my things, I’ll take yours!” He snarls and two men grab hold of Doug’s arms when he lunges at you, holding him back as he struggles to set himself free. 

Your body shakes as his fingers continue to pull you closer to the edge. 

“No! You bastard!” Doug shouts but Mormont simply laughs, the sinister sound blaring in your eyes. 

“Look at him, darling. Look at that pathetic excuse of a man.” He commands yet you defy him, closing your eyes as you refuse to face your boyfriend in humiliation. But his grip on your neck tightens further and you open your eyes, Mormont’s hand framing your jaw as he forces you to look Doug in the eyes. “Look at him! I want him to see you come because of me. I want him to bare witness to what his stupidity has led you into.”

Tears flow once more from your eyes as you face him. His eyes are full of anger yet his face sullen in defeat as he’s left helpless to defend you. Your eyes then shut tight as your spine curves and your head rests against Mormont’s shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his sleeve when your body shakes, your cunt fluttering around his digits when you come hard on his hand. 

He continues to thrust in you, fingers sliding easily against your sopping walls. A sigh then escapes you when he pulls his hand away, smearing your juices over your abdomen and then slipping them into his mouth. 

“Fuck—you taste like honey.” Mormont growls, your body limp against his, breathing heavy, that you don’t even bother to pull away when he trails kisses from your cheek and down to your clothed shoulder. “No wonder that loser stole from me. I’d shower diamonds at your feet if I get to fuck such a sweet cunt.” The remark makes your stomach turn in disgust, shame encapsulating you that you allowed this man to toy with you as he pleased. 

“Jorah—” The man from earlier calls. “You had your fun. We have to go.”

Mormont sighs. “Very well.” Your eyes spring open when you hear a loud thud, seeing Doug on the ground once again, holding himself up with his hands and knees. “Kill him.”

“No!” You pull away from Mormont’s hold but he lifts you up in his arms effortlessly, the strength surging back in your veins as you thrash against him. “Doug! Doug!” You cry as you're taken to the doorway of the library. “Please! Don’t kill him! Please—” You sob as you beat against his arm. 

The cold air sears your skin as you’re pushed out of the bookshop, the rain coming down harder than before and lighting painting the sky followed by the crash of thunder. You continue to fight, to retch yourself free from your captors, and go back inside to try and save your love. But Mormont shoves you roughly into the awaiting vehicle, your back hitting the other side as you slide against the leather seat. 

Nonetheless, you waste no time. You jiggle on the handle harshly, trying to pull the lock out of its place, but your fingers stiffen and your head snaps back to the shop when a gunshot rings from the inside, your heart stopping as the door shuts close after Mormont takes his seat, the car driving off into the evening storm. 

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

[justallamaimaginingthings]

This Charming Man [Moder!Jorah Mormont x Reader]

Request: "Ay drug dealer can I get a fresh batch of Modern AU!Lord Mormont?" by @orderoftheflamingflamingos

A/n: Coffee Shop AU is just perfect for this case. I realized many of my imagines are named after song titles, oops. Hope you like it and thanks for requesting 💘

Words: 1900  || GoT Masterlist

Working in a small coffee shop in the heart of Edinburgh was not how you imagined your life after college would be. Unfortunately PhD's did not pay for themselves so you were forced to take a gap year in order to collect enough money that would finance you for at least the first few months. The fact that you were new to the country had seemed a bit frightening in the beginning but slowly you got used to the gloomy and yet majestic city and its habitants.

People were kind and friendly, especially as they made their orders and you had even come to know most of the regulars. Your life was going smoothly without any hint of drama or tension and you couldn't be happier about it. And then he walked in.

It was a specifically rainy day and you had lost the bus making you super late for your morning shift. Having run into the rain and cold caused your hair to end up in an absolute mess. It was that day the hottest and classiest man you had ever seen chose to enter your life. He was wearing a dark navy blue coat with a matching suit underneath. He sat down in a small table next to the window and pulled a book out of the leather briefcase he was carrying. Seeing how focused he seemed to be you were reluctant to interrupt him but you did either way.

"Good morning, what can I get you?" you asked politely hoping you didn't sound as nervous as you felt. There was something about that man that radiated calm and confident. The moment his stormy blue eyes met yours you could swear your heart skipped a beat. Never before had you seen such a capturing blue color, making his glance to seemingly pierce right through.

"A latte, please" he replied as his deep velvet voice send a small shiver down your spine.

"O-of course" you stutter mentally kicking yourself for your awkwardness. Usually you made the most amazing latte art, always causing a smile to form on customers' lips but knowing he was observing you, there was no chance your hands could be steady enough for that.

"There you go" you said leaving the hot cup of coffee on his table, a few minutes later.

"Thank you" he responded giving you a nonchalant smile. Soon, that became a routine, he'd come every day, sit on the same table and read. At first you didn't talk much but as days went by the two of you started chatting and getting to know each other and in no time there was no denying you had a huge crush on him. Jorah was always incredibly thoughtful and kind, never failing to make you laugh and lift your spirits.

Sometimes he would even wait for the end of your shift just so you could continue a conversation that had been interrupted way too many times. The two of you talked about all kind of things, but the one that stood out was literature. Never in your life had you seen someone having the same interest as you in the classics before meeting Jorah. The subject had come up when one day you saw him reading War And Peace, one of your favorites and had asked him about it.

After having been disinherited by his father, Jorah had left Edinburgh with no intentions of ever coming back and yet, years later, he was summoned back by the family lawyer only to be told his father had passed away without leaving any heir. Being back had been all but pleasant for Jorah, until he met you. Getting to see you every morning was the highlight of his day. Somehow he found himself unable to keep his thoughts away from you and all the feelings your soft smile caused him. At first he brushed those feelings off as mere excitement of having someone as young and beautiful as yourself around. However, he slowly started to notice it was much more than this. In the end it was your witty and intriguing personality that won him over.

Yesterday had been one of the most stressful days of his life and the results made themselves known the moment he opened his eyes in the form of a splitting headache. Mentally groaning, Jorah decided to ignore his body's way of demanding some peace and quiet and continued with his daily routine, making his way towards the familiar coffee shop.

"Morning, may I guess, the usual?" your cheery voice broke Jorah out of his thoughts. However, there was something different about him that day and you realized it the moment your eyes met his. Instead of replying he nodded in agreement prompting you to cock your eyebrow giving him a questioning look "Something's on your mind" you stated.

"It's just some family related stress, don't worry about it" he explained, but you knew there was more behind it.

"Want to talk about it?" you asked leaving down the trail you were holding and sitting next to him. Usually that conversation happened the other way round, as the blue eyed man had a way of understanding whenever something was troubling you.

"I wouldn’t want to impose on your time" he said despite wanting the exact opposite. Somehow talking to you always made him escape his problems and feel better. You could turn even the darkest days bright, with your sweet smile and comforting voice.

"Nonsense, just give me a second" you replied before getting up. A few moments later you returned without the signature green apron or the tray "It's sorted, I'm out for the day. How about we go for a walk and you can tell what's going on" you suggested and Jorah couldn't refuse the offer as a wide smile made its way to his face. He picked up his coat and followed you outside.

"You didn't have to do that, you know" he said feeling slightly guilty

"Jorah, you're always helping me through my problems I want to do the same" you explained reassuringly as you made your way to a nearby park and sat on a small wooden bench "So, what's going on?"

"My family and I haven't had the best of terms the past few years but after father's will was opened I have been running the family company. There were some bumps along the way but things finally smoothed out" Jorah explained trying to stray off details as much as he could. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, he was simply terrified you'd change your mind about him.

"I'm sorry about your father" you said, shocked that you didn't know about it sooner, as you placed your hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner causing Jorah's heart to flutter. In general you were a very touchy feely kind of person, for which Jorah couldn't be thankful enough as he enjoyed every single chance of physical contact that made his skin burn and his heart race.

"I hadn't seen him in a long time" Jorah added, brushing it off "The problem is my niece returned to town. She categorically despises me and to be honest, I don't I really blame her. Nonetheless, it reminds me of the person I was back when I lived here and the mistakes that person had made. I have greatly tried to let go of the past" there was a great amount of sadness hidden behind his blue eyes, finally coming out after being pent up way too long.

"I don't know what happened between you and your family, but I know who you are, Jorah. No matter what you've done in the past, that's exactly what it is, the past. You're a great person with a good heart, you only have to show her that. You deserve a second chance" you argued looking into his eyes. Seeing you defend him like that gave Jorah a newfound sense of confidence while the fact that you believed in him was enough to make a spark of hope light up in his heart.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked and it was the first time you ever saw him acting so vulnerable seeing that usually he was the most collected and put together person you knew.

"Of course I do, Jorah. You've been nothing but a great support to me. And I refuse to believe a person who loves War and Peace so much to be a bad person" you added chuckling which caused him to mirror the action as a slight laugh escaped his lips "Your niece will come around, just give her time to see who you are now"

"Lyanna may not be as forgiving as you are, but that can work" Jorah was about to say something else before your eyes widened in shock.

"Lyanna Mormont as in the youngest MIT graduate? I knew I had heard the name before. Lyanna is your niece? But I've heard she came from a noble family. Wait are you…?" your mind was struggling to wrap up around the facts causing a bemused smile to light up Jorah's features at your adorably confused expression.

"Lord Jorah Mormont of House Mormont" he introduced himself formally, deep down enjoying the way your jaw dropped in surprise.

"W-what?" there was a ton of questions running through your mind in the speed of light as it all clicked together. His sharp appearance and formal vocabulary, the love he held for classic literature and the way he seemed to know everything about the city, everything made sense.

"Precisely" he agreed nodding positively.                                        

"So, you live in Mormont Manor? I've heard you can see the whole city from the balconies, is that true?" you asked enthusiastically. It was no secret you had heard a lot about that place.

"Indeed it is" he replied and that was when it hit you that you were completely missing the point.

"I'm bubbling aren't I? I'm sorry for intruding" you apologized suddenly feeling like you had overstepped a line.

"It's perfectly fine. Besides, I'd like to suggest something, my cousin Maege is holding a celebration for Lyanna's return and I hoped having someone with me would help making it worth suffering through" he suggested trying not to let his nervousness show. If he wanted to be honest if it weren't for you, he would find a way to skip the whole event despite knowing it would only make the situation worse. Maybe, with the right company, there was a chance to make the most of it though.

"You mean like a date?" you asked before you could stop yourself, instantly feeling your face burning by the intense blushing.

"A date, indeed" Jorah agreed giving you a heartwarming smile

"I'd loved to" you replied mirroring the action with one of your own.

That was the last thing you expected to come out of this day and yet you couldn't be happier. Jorah had come to mean a lot to you and seeing that he trusted you with something as serious as that meant a lot. Upon seeing the look in his eyes, you couldn’t help noticing a hint of excitement and maybe something more, something you'd go as far as to call affection. All in all, you couldn’t wait until Saturday…

[divine17]

↳ NIGHTBIRD II | MASTERLIST

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Request: “Could you write something about y/n being Robert and cersei’s true born daughter who will be queen? But she doesn’t want the throne and escapes to live with the dothraki, and takes a liking to Jorah and falls in love with him?” - Anon

& the general fandom desire for more Jorah x reader smut

Warnings: NSFW, Fem!Reader, Baratheon!Lannister!Reader, Princess!Reader, not a lot of a plot, generally sweet/fluffy, mention of Jorah’s ex-wife, age gap relationship, mention of male masturbation, implied that reader is not a virgin & has given a blowjob before (doesn’t mention to whom), also implied that reader likes rough sex too, morning sex, oral sex & swallowing cum (reader giving), kissing after oral

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Part two to Nightbird. You can find part one here (xx). 

This post will be updated with the link to part three when it’s posted!

You hated mornings with the Dothraki. It was by far your least favorite part of living with Drogo’s Khalasar. Each morning, it seemed as if there was a never ending stream of noise and annoyance. The generally busy sounds of the Dothrak people around you, the birds chirping in the sky above you, the horses neighing and whinnying beside you. The fight between at least two of the ko’s that always seemed to break out around sun up, with the occasional death and resulting punishments, causing a stir in the camp. There was simply no end to the sounds.

But this morning, there was none of it. Or it didn’t seem to bother you, at least.

The glow of the pink sunlight crept through the roof of Jorah’s tent, giving the room a certain soft aura. The two candles that laid on the floor beside you were still lit from the night before, providing just enough light for you to be able to see your surroundings as you took it all in. The birds seemed to chirp much quieter, the horses nearly silent, and the Dothraki were calm, almost tranquil, as you stretched. Jorah still held you close to his chest, his arms securely wrapped around your waist just like the two of you had fallen asleep as. Neither of you seemed to have moved an inch during the night.

You glanced up at the man’s face above yours. He looked soft, serene. The lines of his face had relaxed in his slumber and his usually neatly parted and brushed blondish hair was messy, spilling over his forehead. You brushed the stray strands away with your thumb, carefully. You tilted your head up, letting your lips brush along his jaw, which was covered by a scruffy greyish stubble, placing a small kiss to his skin before settling back down beneath him. He was handsome. A classic Mormont man, talented with a sword and with good looks and a sense of humor and softness to match.

Jorah stirred slightly when your warmth left his skin. He took in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as his eyes fluttered open. He wet his lips before he spoke, making you smile slightly. This still felt like some strange dream, being here with him. Though you were injured and practically exiled, and Jorah himself still tasked with spying on the new Khaleesi, Daenerys Targaryen, for the Westerosi men in the capital... It still felt like a dream.

“Good morning, princess.” He mumbled. A lump rose in your throat when he looked at you like that, like you were the only person who mattered to him. It was a new feeling for the both of you. His voice was raspy and sweet from his sleep, making you smile as you playfully rolled your eyes at him. How many times do you have to tell him that you are not a princess anymore? Many, apparently. But if you were quite honest... You didn’t even mind when he called you that. It sounded much, much better coming from his lips than anyone else’s. It almost gave you a positive view on the title. But you would never let Jorah know that, it would only allow him to call you by the title-turned-nickname even more.

“Will you ever stop calling me that, Ser Lord Mormont?” You asked, laughing quietly. Before you could begin to speak again, he interrupted, a thin smile playing on his lips

“You renounced your titles when you left the Seven Kingdoms, I’m aware. As did I.”

You shook your head, still laughing at him. Slowly, you began to run your fingers through his hair, combing it back out of his face again. He practically melted into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut once again as he enjoyed the feeling. You could tell that Jorah hadn’t been shown much love in the recent years. He was practically starved of affection and touch, even a platonic touch, it was obvious. He couldn’t help but love you just a little more when you did silly things like that. So simple, so sweet, he treasured the little things.

The smile on his face grew into a grin as you kissed him again, his lips this time, in a slow and lazy way. Passionate, and sweet for the both of you. Jorah began to pull you closer and closer to his body, sighing contently as you broke the contact for a moment to come to straddle him. His hands found their way to your waist, holding you tightly as you leaned down, your hands steady against his chest, to kiss him once more.

You moved one of your hands away from his chest, letting your fingertips trail down his body until they reached the waistband of his trousers. His breathing grew quicker as he felt you begin to untie them, loosening them on his hips. Your hand moved down slightly to feel his growing erection against the thin fabric. His own hand catches your wrist as he pulls away from your lips with a certain suddenness.

“Princess, you don’t have to do this.”

You laughed. “I want to please you, Jorah. I want to help you.”

He pauses for a moment, his grip on your arm loosening, before he speaks again. “Are you sure?”

You nod before leaning back in to kiss him again, just for a moment, before pulling away. Your lips come to rest on his collarbone, leaving small pink marks on his tanned skin. But you rise up from him once more. You can’t help but want to study his face when your hand slips into his pants, beginning to stroke his length. His eyes snap shut tightly as he breathes deeply, shuddering under your touch as you slide down his body and settle between his thighs. He isn’t entirely sure how to react when you begin to pull his trousers down just enough to give you access to his cock, which ached for your touch.

Jorah hadn’t had anyone since his ex-wife, Lynesse, which felt like several lifetimes ago, if you asked him. He was never fond of buying women for the night, nor potentially taking advantage of the Dothraki women. And he rarely took matters into his own hands for fear of being caught by an unsuspecting someone. That would be rather mortifying, so he simply didn’t risk it unless the need got far too much to handle. For a moment, his mind flooded with worry. What if he wasn’t good in bed anymore, having been out of practice so long? What if he wasn’t good enough for your liking, or didn’t last long enough nor had enough stamina for you? Was he your first? God, he didn’t want to be your first. If he was, he would want to make it special, something unforgettable and pleasurable for you more than himself. Sucking his cock first thing in the morning was neither of those (well, maybe a little unforgettable, for him at least).

He bit his tongue when you stroked his cock for the first time, barely catching the loud moan that would’ve come from his lips had he not stopped himself. Jorah shuddered under your touch as your other hand came to rest on his hip. For a brief second, you pulled away, making him open his eyes to look down at you. You quickly removed your top, tossing it on the floor without care. His eyes grew wide as he glanced over your body, his stare immediately falling to your now-exposed chest. Gods, that could have made him come right then and there had he not been so anxious.

After letting the man ogle you for a moment, you lean back down, eager to continue what you had started. Your hand came to play with his cock again, in long, languid strokes before you began to use your mouth on him. First, you kissed the head of him, placing a small lick to the underside of his cock. For someone who hadn’t done this very much, nor in a very long time, you seemed to be doing great so far.

A soft moan escaped the man as you took him into your mouth. You glanced up to catch his gaze when Jorah looked down at you, his pupils wide with both love and pure lust. You looked beautiful still, even like this, he thought.

You took as much of him in as you could, your tongue flat against his member. Your hand worked what you couldn’t fit into your mouth, stroking him slowly as you pumped his length in and out of between your hollowed cheeks and plump pink lips. More moans fell from him as you sucked his cock. He couldn’t stop them, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you quite liked them. So sweet and unusual to see him in such a lustful, vulnerable state. It was nice.

“Princess,” He groaned quietly, letting his hand come to rest in your hair, his grip tightening by the minute. You hummed lightly, sending little vibrations shooting through him. He swore quietly under his breath. You could tell that it was taking everything in him not to thrust into your mouth, to get a little rough with you. You wanted to smirk. If only he knew that’s what you liked. He exhaled sharply, desperate to keep the small sounds in so as not to alert anyone outside to your morning activity.

As Jorah grew closer and closer to his eventual release, you started trying to take him deeper into you. His hand, the one that’s not tangled into your hair, slides down his chest to meet your other hand, which rested on his lap. He takes your hand in his softly, holding it against his body.

It wasn’t very long after that until his breath hitched in his throat nervously, trying to mumble your name, a small warning of his impending release. You hummed against him as a sign that you understood, something you hoped he would catch. It seemed as if he did, as he relaxed slightly, his breathing quickening and small swears of your name and curse words falling from his lips until he came on your tongue. With a small wince, you swallowed the salted liquid.

Jorah struggled to regain his composure in the immediate moments after his release. He found himself absolutely speechless, in awe of what had just happened. All he could think about was how much he loved you, and how much he did not want to leave this tent right now.

You pulled his trousers back up, not bothering to tie them. Then, you curled into him as he wrapped his arm around you. Jorah brought his hand to meet your chin, tilting your head up slightly so he could kiss you. You tasted of him still, but he couldn’t find it within him to care even a little.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Jorah.”

[lodessa]

Is that Morena Baccarin as your icon? If so go into "the red tent" tag on tumblr. (I hope you don't already know about what you'll find. *conspiratory grin* If you already know.... eh, alas....i tried )

It is indeed!  OMG THANK YOU ANON

I did not know! Not until you sent this ask and I immediately knew in my heart before I actually looked. 

[toas-tea]

Fuq me dead I had the worst dream with Iain fuqqing Glen

The entirety of it just consisted of my friends and I walking around this random shopping plaza. I noticed Iain the Explorer doing some exploring with his wife as well but I didn’t say anything since they looked like they were just trying to go about their day in peace. Literally n o t hi ng fucking happened and I was just trapped in this loop where we would be walking around and I would try to stare at Iain without staring at him from the edge of my peripherals while trying not to make it so damn obvious.

and then i woke up and it’s just like oh my F Uc K-

saltier than the great grass sea, buddha just take me n ow

[mxltifandom-imagines]

Daario: (smiles proudly) Jorah: “You think we are the only one impressed by (Y/N)?” Daario: “I’m sure a hundred of men and women are crying themselves to sleep at night because of who (Y/N) is. Because of how pretty and strong (Y/N) is.” Jorah: “Yeah.” (he nods) “I’m happy I can serve the one I love.”