#jon x oc

[readingisloving]

Completed

Selene Baratheon, the only trueborn child of King Robert Baratheon, is an unconventional, sword-swinging beauty caught up in the game of thrones. 

Now she must risk everything for honor, duty, and love.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[magicalbunbun]

all I can think about is that audio

Damian: “She’s (he’s) not my (boy) girlfriend!”

Starfall: “I am not your friend?”

Starfall: “I am not a (boy) girl⁉️

I'm guessing that superboy start it

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

being manhandled by a stark man tho 😋 thrown around and used like a toy in winterfell 🔥

…. to be bent over by cregan and pounded so hard that your cervix bruises 💞💞🤭🤭 it hurts but so good!! he knows just what to whisper in your ear to make you squirt 💦💦

[nolita-fairytale]

bad moon rising | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: in another lifetime, you meet mikey berzatto by chance one halloween night in nyc.

or, the fic based on this headcanon

warnings: angst, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, drug usage, high mikey b, swearing, family drama, depression, not a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

a/n: i wrote about grief again. shocking, i know. thank you all for your interest based on the headcanon it came from and thank you for your patience. i wanted so badly to post this around halloween and have been sitting on it since the better part of last year as one of my wips. finally, finally, it's here!! i took a slightly different approach than the headcanon, but i think it still does it justice. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the carmy taglist.

this what-if fic takes place october 2021 because it's make my heart surrender-canon that mikey and reader never met; reader x carmy are best friends and colleagues but it has not gone further than that.

masterlist

Halloween, in another lifetime:

“Can I get hands, please!” Carmy shouts out to the entire kitchen, only to be met with a strong chorus of ‘hands’ in response.

His team works together like a well-oiled machine; a tight run ship, led by a captain near-suffocated under the weight of the chip on his shoulder. 

“Chef!” you hear the sound of your general manager’s voice ring through the kitchen, causing many a-heads to turn. She rarely comes into the kitchen during dinner service unless it’s serious. Her eyes lock with Carmy’s as he looks up from his expo, as if she’s about to deliver bad news. 

His mind races through the possibilities, preparing to solve the next oncoming crisis. Could it be an undercooked steak? An overcooked duck breast? Another complaint of ‘too salty’ or ‘underseasoned?’ 

“Chef, you uh… you have a visitor,” she says instead–the last thing he expects to hear. 

A visitor? 

“Wh-?” 

“Someone’s here to see you. Says he’s your… brother??” Carmy’s ears begin to burn, as he searches for your face amidst the chaos, your gaze there to catch him even from across the kitchen. Your presence feels reassuring, like a strong man in a storm. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s knee deep into service and he cannot get the sound of tickets being added to the expo out of his head. He opens his mouth to say something but he’s uncertain any words come out of his mouth, unsure of what he’d even say. You send him a reassuring nod, and it’s as if in one look, you’ve made the decision to go. 

“Chef, you good?” Carmy hears you ask the head pastry chef. 

“Yeah, we got it. But don’t take too long,” she answers with a curt nod of approval. 

He watches as you nod again, this time in recognition of your boss’ answer, as you pull the food-grade nitrile gloves off of your hands, discarding them in the nearby trash can. Without a word, you follow Kate closely behind, exchanging a few words with her as the two of you disappear to the front of house. There’s a war inside of Carmy as he watches you go–a pang of guilt and a feeling of relief–that whatever it is, you’ve agreed to take care of it. 

In all of the years that he’s been in New York, no one’s come to see him–the possibility of it happening now, let alone as a surprise, feels improbable. 

Must be a prank or some shit…. 

It couldn’t really be Michael, could it? 

As you seek out the answer, your feet carrying you faster than you anticipated, you realize that you’re searching for a face you’ve only seen in photographs. Kate follows closely behind while you push through the front door of the restaurant only to find a man pacing just outside of the restaurant, a ghostface mask in hand. You can tell he’s been sweating, the circles under his eyes just as dark as the ones you’ve become so familiar with in Carmy, with an anxious look in his eyes as his gaze turns towards you. 

He’s certainly not the larger-than-life older brother you’ve seen in the sparse amount of pictures that Carmy’s shown you.  

“I got this, Kate,” you mutter over your shoulder with a confident nod, letting your general manager know that you’re good on your own. “You sure?” she asks you quietly. 

“I’m sure,” you answer, watching as a disappointed look spread across Michael’s face as soon as he sees that: 

“You’re not Carmen.” 

“Uh… no. I’m not,” you reply, hearing the front door to the restaurant close behind you. The man swears under his breath, and you watch as face changes from disappointment to annoyance quickly, as you try your best to come up with an explanation that may satisfy him. “He uh… he can’t come out. Not right now. So he sent me.” 

Michael scoffs with a shake of his head, his eyebrows quickly rising and falling incredulously as he takes another drag off his cigarette. 

“Shit... the guy can't even make time to see his big brother?" he asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice this time. 

You take a step towards him, your arms folded across your chest. 

“I’m sorry. I-, I don't think he was expecting you,” you answer, much more compassionately this time. 

“Right,” Michael mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear. You watch as he throws the butt of his cigarette down on the pavement, before stamping it out. 

“It’s just-. He would if he could. I know it. It's just a busy night. I-... we're doing 200 covers tonight and uh... well, he runs the kitchen so,” you try again, and you can practically feel the disappointment (and resentment) burying itself deeper in Michael. 

“Yeah, no thanks, lady. You don’t need to explain it to me. Jagoff can’t even make time to say ‘hi’ to his brother. Sends you to do his dirty work instead,” Michael dismisses you, bitterly. 

He takes a beat. And then another, as if he’s accepted that he’s not going to see Carmy after all. 

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure-,” you offer, taking another step towards him. 

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” he dismisses you again, this time gentler. “You don’t need to make up for his bullshit.” 

You open your mouth to say something—anything in defense of Carmy—but you’re certain that nothing you have to say will be enough for your best friend’s older brother (save for Carmy coming out here himself).

With a nod, you accept defeat, turning to go back inside. But there’s something that stops you—like you just can’t just go back inside without trying to remedy the situation one last time. This time all you say is:

“I don’t know how long you’re in town for but… we should be off by midnight.”

Michael only offers you a sympathetic smile before you slip back inside. 

—---------------------------------------

It’s not until you and Carmy are packing up your things to head home that he brings it up—his mysterious visitor—hesitant to ask the question that’s been eating at him all night. 

“So uh… was it really him? Michael?” he asks you, cautiously, as he watches your face carefully for any kind of reaction. 

“Uh… yeah. I mean, at least the guy I recognized from your pictures,” you reply, hoping that the answer (or the fact that he missed his brother) won’t break his heart. 

A beat.

“What’d he want?” Carmy asks, trying to mask his curiosity as best as possible. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Seems like he found himself in the city. I didn’t ask. I didn’t… know if you wanted me to.” 

Carmy tries again. 

“Oh no. It’s-, no I didn’t-, no, it’s okay.” 

He takes his time, making up his mind about what he wants to say next. 

“It’s weird, right? Guy can barely pick up the phone to say hello but… he can show up unannounced and just like-, expect me to drop everything?” he asks you—the look in his eyes telling you that his mind is miles away. 

“I- I don’t know, Carmy,” you reply, heavily. “Are you… do you wish you had gone instead of me?” 

Carmy’s quiet as he follows you out of the back door of the restaurant, thinking his answer over. 

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, a lack of confidence as the words fall out of his mouth. “Maybe?” 

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel and right now he just feels… ambushed, which only makes him want to shut down. 

Instead, Carmy changes the subject back to your post-work plans, the two of you debating what kind of post-shift late night meal you’re going to have before settling on a few slices of pizza on the way back to your place. You and Carmy cut through the alley to the front of the restaurant so that you can begin your late-night sojourn, and it’s only when he spots something odd that he stops you. 

“What the fuck?” Carmy cuts you off, holding an arm out in front of you to stop you from walking any further. 

You follow his line of sight right over to a figure moving towards the both of you. In the brief glimpse you’ve gotten of the person moving towards you, all you can see is a quick flash of the ghostface mask they hold in their hands as a bus drives by, obstructing your view. 

Carmy’s heart stops, fear filling his chest as the bus speeds by, the person getting closer and closer until…

“Michael?!” Carmy shouts, squinting as he sees the man approach. His expression of pure shock leaves his jaw agape, rendering him speechless as he scrambles to try to find better words that: 

“What-, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Shit,” Michael scoffs playfully, with a chuckle, his breath uneven from the light jogging pace he’d kept. Michael takes note of the arm his younger brother’s extended, shielding you from him. “What? Can’t your big brother come surprise ya in the big city?” 

Carmy shoots him a look that says, ‘when have you ever done that’ and Michael nods knowingly, his eyebrows quickly raising, then lowering as he makes peace with the fact that he’s never been that guy. 

“Me and Deb… we came up for the weekend,” Mikey admits with a heavy sigh. “Tried to do something nice for her but, you know, broad’s been a real bitch-.” 

“Mikey,” Carmy warns, taking a tone you recognize—the kind he uses when he’s going to yell at the saucier for a broken mornay. 

“Right,” Mike course corrects at the volume of a mumble, heaving a heavy, yet disarming sigh. 

Carmy nods slowly as he allows some part of him to relax, his arm falling away from you as the two of you exchange a look. 

“We uh…. Got into another fight. She’s on her way back to Chicago now,” Mikey explains, the disappointment evident in his voice this time, almost as if it were an apology. 

“Sorry,” Carmy mutters quietly, as you exchange a look with him. 

“Nah it’s-, she’ll get over it,” Mikey brushes off with a shrug, his tone shifting as he extens an arm out to you.

“Fuck, where are my manners? I never properly introduced myself earlier. I’m Mikey. Mikey Berzatto,” he grins with a charm and confidence that’s been absent in both of your interactions with him till now. The smile that spreads across his face is contagious as he looks from you to Carmy, then back to you. “Shit. I’m sorry. ‘M fuckin’ jagoff, interupting your night like this. I should probably get-.” 

“No!” you protest, almost too quickly, earning a look from Carmy. “We weren’t-, we were just getting off work and were gonna grab a bite. Maybe even… a drink?” you suggest, a hopefulness in your eyes as you turn towards Carmy. 

“Yeah?” Michael asks, his interest piqued. 

“Uhm. Just gonna grab a bite actually,” Carmy forces out, sending a glare in your direction. 

“You know what’s crazy? I know a spot. With food. And drinks,” you challenge him, silently begging him to just go with it. 

“You cool with that, Carm?” Mike asks this time, looking from you to his younger brother once more. It’s the first time that Carmy thinks Michael’s ever looked to him for approval. 

Carmy’s quiet for a moment, torn between wanting to burn it all down or declare a gleeful ‘yes’ because at least Mikey wants to spend time with him. 

“Um. Uh. Yeah. Yeah okay,” Carmy finally agrees. 

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do it!” Mikey rallies. 

And as he turns to go, your voice instructing him that it’s only a few blocks from here, you and Carmy fall into stride, just a few steps behind Mikey. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Carmy threatens you—though there’s no weight to it—through gritted teeth. 

You shove him playfully, bumping your shoulder against his side as the two of you walk, answering with a promise that: “You’ll thank me later.” 

—---------------------------------------

You sit on one side of Carmy, Mikey on the other, and you can see why Carmy looks at his older brother like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars above. There’s something different about Michael—something different than when you met him just hours ago outside of the restaurant—as he corrals the three of you into a round of shots. 

As the shots of tequila arrive at the bar, Carmy dismisses his, his attention fixed to the still-full whiskey on the rocks he’d ordered earlier, just to appease his older brother. He watches you carefully as you and Mikey clink glasses before throwing back your own respective shots. 

“Carm?” Mikey asks, nodding towards the third, untouched shot glass. 

Carmy hesitates. 

“It’s fine. I’ll take his,” you jump in, half as an attempt to give Carmy the out he so desperately desires, and half because, admittedly, meeting the great Mikey Berzatto makes you a little nervous.

Before anyone can protest, you reach out, picking up the shot glass, before tapping it down against the bar top, fearlessly throwing it back. Michael watches you with a sense of amusement, as your face crinkles in response to the sting of the liquor and the bitterness of the lime you chase it with. 

He smirks, sharing a knowing look with his younger brother that says, “I like this girl,” which in turn only causes Carmy to blush. Before Mikey can say anything more, the song that blares through the speakers changes, earning his attention as he hears the familiar words:

“I see the bad moon a-risin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today”

“Alright, alright. Think it’s a little too on the nose if I admit that I love this song? On Halloween? C’maaaaaahn,” Mikey asks, almost as if it’s a confession in reference to the easily recognizable Creedance Clearwater revival hit. 

“No! No, I love this song,” you’re quick to assuage his hesitation as your eyes light up in response to his recognition. 

“You got good taste, kid,” Michael notes confidently, winking in his brother’s direction. “I like this girl, Carm.”

Only this time, he says it out loud. Carmy only shakes his head, the blush already running across his cheeks taking a deeper shade of red. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh. You both uh.. Like music,” Carmy smiles, gesturing from you to his brother. At least this is going a lot better than he expected it to, he reminds himself. 

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks, clearly intrigued. 

“Oh that’s right!” you exclaim, simultaneously. The excitement that brews within you has you stumbling over your words as you manage to get out:

“You’re-, oh my god! The Lennon jacket!” 

“What?” Mike asks, shooting you a funny look. 

“I’m sorry. I just-. I realize I’m not-,” you stammer over your words, trying your best to explain your earlier exclamation over your own excitement. 

“You gave Carmy the denim jacket – the 1950s selvedge Wrangler!” 

“Just like the-,” Michael starts, the two of you finishing his sentence at once with: 

“... just like the one John Lennon had!” 

“Marry this girl, Carm. Marry her right now. Tonight! Or I will,” Michael encourages, slapping his hand down against the bar. He speaks with so much bravado and conviction that you can only imagine that there was none left for Carmy. “Fuckin’ christ. I never should’ve let you two meet,” Carmy groans on an exasperated exhale as he shakes his head once again. 

“Oh c’mon, Carm,” Mikey rouses him, with a playful eye roll. 

“It’s totally my favorite jacket of his! I-, well, it’s a long story but we actually became friends over the jacket because he spilled a drink on me and-,”

“Ahhh real smooth.” 

“No! No, it was okay, I promise. I-, I don’t know if we would’ve gotten to know each other if he hadn’t so-. Call it a lucky jacket, I guess,” you smile, stealing a look in Carmy’s direction. He shoots the smallest smile back to you, cognizant of the fact that Mikey’s observing the entire interaction. 

As you begin to tell Michael the story about the aforementioned Lennon jacket, it could be minutes, hours, or days that pass, once you and Mikey finish trading facts about music like they’re trivia cards. It’s almost as entertaining as watching Mikey and Carmy go at it, bouncing facts about the history of denim like you’re at the French Open. 

You excuse yourself to the restrooms—partially because you really have to pee and partially because it seems like this evening is going well—wanting to give both brothers some time alone. And as soon as you’re out of earshot, Mikey’s on Carmy like an FBI Investigation. 

“This your girl, Carm, or what?" he asks with a casualness to his voice that sets off alarms in Carmy’s head. 

"Mikey, stop it,” Carmy dismisses him, hoping more than anything for this to be the end of the conversation. 

Instead, Mikey scoffs, shaking his head as he downs another shot. 

"Then at least tell me you're hittin' that." 

“Michael!" Carmy hushes his brother, a warning and protectiveness in his voice this time. 

"Are you fuckin' serious right now, Bear?” Michael pushes further. “What, you're telling me you're not when she’s walkin’ around in your jacket, talkin’ about wearing your clothes to your big brother and I’m supposed to think-?" 

"She's not!” Carmy cuts him off. “She doesn’t do-, she’s.... my friend. Jus’ give it up alright.” 

"Shit. Wish I had a friend like that. Ya friends, kid, or are ya... you know... friends?" Mikey smirks, earning a venomous glare from his younger brother. 

Carmy shakes his head in response, jaw clenched, as he stares down at the bar top, a feeling inside of him that he doesn’t like when he even thinks about Mikey looking at you like that. 

"Shit, I thought I taught you better than that, Bear." 

There it is again.

That feeling. 

He’s not sure how to name it, but it’s enough to make Carmy want to deck his brother right then and there as it rises inside of him. 

"I'm serious, Mike. We’re just friends,” Carmy spits out. He’s much more serious this time. “Cut it out." 

But Michael’s too quick, his voice growing louder as he interjects on the tail end of Carmy’s insistence.

"Oh come on! The chick's smokin' fuckin' hot. And I can tell that you like her. I'm not blind, Carm. I see the way you-."

And if it’s as if something snaps inside of Carmy as he exclaims: 

"Don't talk to me like you know what's going on in my life! Fuck!" 

"Carm-." 

"Can't even pick up the damn phone and then you just... waltz into town acting like everything is okay?!” he fumes, standing up out of his chair. 

His face grows redder with each word, and it only confirms Mikey’s suspicions: that his little brother is absolutely a goner for you. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Carmy like this and he’s torn between feeling proud of his kid brother or pissed that the kid’s turning this around on him. 

"Well, if you ever bothered to come home. You know mom's been askin' about you since you never fuckin’-,” Mikey roars, eager to relinquish the hotseat here.

“Oh don't bring mom into this!" Carmy protests.

It’s your voice that snaps him out of it—brings him back to earth as he hears you ask:

“Everything okay?” 

Carmy can practically hear his heart pounding away in his ears; can feel the blood rushing through his head as he takes a deep breath. He swallows, takes a beat, then turns to you. 

“Yeah uh. I think we should go,” he states, his voice uneven and tense as you try to get a read on either brother. 

“Uh… yeah, I guess we can-, um,” you stammer out, wondering how things went from good to hell in a matter of minutes. Carmy mutters something about getting your stuff as you try your best to put the pieces together. 

“It was uh, nice to meet you, Mikey,” you say softly, as soon as you get your coat on. 

“Yeah. You too, sweetheart,” he nods, something distant in his voice. Carmen scoffs at his brother’s usage of the word before tugging on your arm. 

You wait a beat, in anticipation of some kind of goodbye between the brothers, but there is none as you follow Carmy out of the bar. 

—---------------------------------------

Halloween, again — in this lifetime:

When Carmy comes to, he can hear the faint sounds of an episode of Pasta Grannies in the background, uncertain of what time it is. 

“Hey, you. You fell asleep on the couch and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” you say, as he begins to sit up. Carmy blinks his eyes a few more times, watching as you make your way from the kitchen island over to the couch, taking a seat at his feet. 

“Did you still want to watch a scary movie? You know, in the spirit of the holiday?” you ask him with a soft chuckle. 

All Carmy can remember before falling asleep was what he was thinking about: what it would be like if you had met Mikey. It’s something he thinks of often, especially as the two of you grow closer—as your relationship gets more serious—and it’s something he hates that he’ll never be able to give to you. 

“This was his favorite holiday,” Carmy manages to get out, the sleep heavy in his voice. 

You’re not all that surprised. Carmy’s been on edge lately and you assumed it was because Mikey’s birthday’s coming up. But this… this makes sense too. 

“I wish I could’ve met him,” you smile, reaching out for one of his hands. 

Carmy nods. 

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah. Think he would’ve loved you.” 

Maybe a little too much, he thinks to himself. 

“You think so?” you ask with a vulnerability and a desire for reassurance that catches Carmy off guard. 

He nods with much more confidence this time, offering you a soft, sympathetic smile.  

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know so.”

[thebastardofwinterfelljonsnow]

They were the shields that guarded the realms of men.

[bambieyedoll]

⊹ ⋆ ꒰ఎﾟMOODBOARD ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

shane walsh x farmer’s daughter!reader

“c’mon, baby” shane kissed your neck softly while wrapping his arms around you in a back hug. “i didn’t mean to scream and scare you, you know that” his rough voice whispered in your ear while he pressed his chest against your back and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your angry facade much longer. turning around, you looked up at him with your pretty doe eyes and he wasted no time in holding you by your waist, keeping you close to him. “i’ll make it up to you, doll” his hands descended to your ass, gripping strongly and in that moment you already forgave him.

[blxkstar]

POV: You're in Game of Thrones

I made this playlist by mixing all of my game of thrones playlists into one (with some edits). Please check it out!

If you like this one, please check out my other playlists for specific houses and house of the dragon.

"I'm not going to stop the wheel, I'm going to break the wheel"

Winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it

[samieree]

"Dawn of the North || Robb Stark" Masterlist

(fanfiction)(Robb Stark x OC)

[General Masterlist with list of boys I can write one-shots with here]

[Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon Masterlist]

[my works are also avaiable on Ao3: Samiere and on wattpad: _Saelin]

!IMPORTANT INFO!

Introduction + Prologue

Chapter I "Family"

Chapter II "War in the south"

Chapter III "Silver-haired"

Chapter IV "News are various"

Chapter V "Truth?"

Chapter VI "First step"

Chapter VII "Mutual happiness [+18]

Chapter VIII "Temporary peace"

Chapter IX "The Twins"

Chapter X "Wildlings"

Chapter XI "The Letter"

Chapter XII "In the sight of the Seven..." [+18]

Chapter XIII "Harrenhal"

Chapter XIV "Proposition"

Chapter XV "Are you a witch?"

[spider-jaysart]

Okay soooo, first time I'm doing something like this, but I wanna introduce a fave oc of mines today that I've been working on for a longtime now :)

Her name is Nadja Al Ghul-Wayne-Kent and she's a Damijon kid

(Click for better quality)

@camo-wolf @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

The name Nadja means "hope" in Arabic. My very dear friend @theredheaded-stuff was the one who helped me pick it. And her hero name is Super Canyon, which is inspired by the Canyon Wren bird

(More under the cut)

(Edited some stuff on this post now btw)

Backstory:

After being inspired by the story of how Kon was created, a secret group of no good scientists, who just love causing chaos with many of their inventions, decided one day to create a mixed clone of both Damian and Jon, thinking they can do better than Lex did, so they collected both of the boys DNA's after one of their recent battles in public and got to work. Once their experiment was supposed to be done, they saw that their machine had actually created a baby girl instead of a grown, powerful clone like they had wanted, so they were ready to dispose of her as a failed subject, but were suddenly stopped just on time by Damian and Jon who broke into the place and kicked their butts after finding out that a recently committed crime they were investigating was caused by them. When they were done, the boys found Nadja and were surprised to find out she's a clone related to them both. They decided to take her with them and made her their daughter to raise together after that.

Personality:

She's helpful, stubborn, is as intelligent as Damian is, friendly but also tough when she needs to be, observant, sometimes a little too honest about things but doesn't always mean it as rude, courageous (a trait that can be pretty helpful sometimes, but also get her into really big trouble during dangerous situations too), a prankster, and very protective of others, especially her loved ones

Abilities and skills:

She has the usual Kryptonian abilities, which are flying, super strength, superhearing, superspeed, superbreath, ice breath, invulnerablity, x-ray vision, and laser vision that's purple instead of the usual red (because Lois has purple eyes, so it's something unique that was passed onto her that way). Sometimes they don't always work though and can accidentally get out of hand too since she's still growing and learning, but Jon aways tries his best to help her get better at using and controlling them. Nadja also uses many concentrating tips from Damian too for improvement, like meditating for example and other things like that, and he helps her practice them

And because she's half Kryptonian, she also has a couple of unlocked special abilities of her own too, which is invisiblity, the ability to phase through walls and objects, plus the power to also transfer the heat of her laser vision into the palm of her hands to burn who or whatever she touches and she can also let it absorb her whole body too if she wants, which makes her even more untouchable and at the same time lets her release a strong fiery blast around herself onto enemies or incoming threats (her body glows completely purple whenever she does this and if it's just her hands, the same happens to them too). Nadja hasn't been able to properly master these special powers yet though, only one of them, which is the invisiblity one

For skills, thanks to teachings from Damian, plus Talia whenever she visits her, Nadja knows how to use a sword and fight well in combat in case her powers aren't working the way she urgently needs them to during patrols and missions

Random facts:

She calls Damian Baba and Jon Dad.

She calls Clark "Grampops" and Bruce "Grampbats". For Talia, she calls her "Grandmother" and for Lois, she calls her "Grandmama".

Her best friend is her same age Cousin Dick II, the Son of her much older Cousin Jake Grayson and his Wife Meredith Robinson. In the Batfamily (besides Damian), she's close with all her Aunt and Uncles. And for the Al Ghul's, she also gets excited whenever she visits Talia and Ra's. And while she definitely also gets along a lot with her other relatives who are in the Superfamily, the person she's most closest to there (besides Jon ofc) is Kon, due to them both being created as clones meant for evil but turned out good instead, which got them to bond even more as Uncle and Niece.

Her voice sounds like Clementine's from Telltales the walking dead games, but specifically the version of it from season 2 for the tween age she's in right now.

She has messy hair like Jon when she lets it loose. Jon is the one who always has to brush her hair whenever it gets tangled up, since the steel strength of it is just too difficult for Damian to actually handle himself.

Nadja laughs at Damian's jokes all the time since she gets his dark humor and he loves that. They always laugh a lot about it together but when Jon's around, they're Iike "You wouldn't get it" and he gets all offended.

Jon passed his love for noodles onto Najda and Damian's usually like "That's not healthy!!" And tries cooking her vegetarian meals more often or healthy ones that Talia would used to make him back when he was a kid, just so that Najda will eat real food lol. Najda also really loves the meals that comes from Damian's culture too and gets happy whenever he makes them for dinner.

For nicknames, Jon will sometimes call her "Sweetpea", "Sugar cookie", and "Tootsie pops", while Damian calls her "Habibti", "Thamin" (meaning "precious" in Arabic), and "Galbi" (which means "my heart" in Arabic)

Damian matches his outfits with Nadja all the time just like Talia would always used to do with him when he was a little kid. He does this with Jon included too and they take pictures together.

When making her hero suit, Damian was the one who helped Nadja out in drawing the designs and brainstormed ideas with her. When she had finally found one she liked and was ready to make it, Damian and Jon could've helped her sew it and everything, but they didn't have many materials that she could use or a sewing machine either, only a regular sewing kit that they use to fix up their own suits whenever they get damaged, so they let her make it with Ma's help instead at her place when they visit her and Pa again, since she actually owned a machine and also had a sewing room filled with many useful materials. When asked, Ma didn't mind letting Nadja use her stuff at all and was instead delighted about it since it would just give them the chance to spend time with eachother while doing one of her favorite hobbies together.

And next time, while having their usual Mother and Son days out together, Talia helped Damian pick out the sarong skirt for Nadja while hanging around stores, since they thought it would be nice for her to have one. Jon was the one who bought Nadja the red sneakers while shopping together with Kathy, since it reminded him of Kathy's old purple, rainbow ones, but with a twist of red thrown onto it, which also reminded him a lot of his favorite old ones that he used to always wear as a kid too. Dick and Cyborg helped her insert digital tech into her cuffs, which lets out hologram screens that let her know whenever she's over using her powers since she's still mastering them and it does plenty of other useful things for her too.

Najda was also given a mask to go with her suit at first too since she thinks it's annoying to wear glasses in her regular life everyday, but then it got lost during a fight and some villains saw her face, so she was still forced to go with the glasses route in the end anyways.

As adults, Jon's a scientist and Damian's a veterinarian. Najda likes visiting both of her Dads at their day jobs after school and doing her homework there while they work. She always promises to behave and not get in the way and if she has no work to do, she'll help them out too, which they appreciate. She also loves watching what they do and let's them happily explain their favorite stuff about the job to her. She knows a lot about taking care of animals and science because of this.

Nadja loves music and making it too. She even thinks about playing rock music for a living when she grows up. Damian and Jon support her in this and buy her the instruments she needs and they also listen to her songs when she wants to show it off to them. Because of them being in a band themselves back when they were kids, Damian, Jon, Chris, and Jake give her lessons sometimes on how to better play her instruments.

Civilians and especially interviewers always question about how they had Nadja and just assume that she's adopted or assume that just because she looks more like Damian, she's probably from a secret ex girlfriend he had before being with Jon. The last one annoys both Damian and Jon so much, especially Jon since Nadja is actually his kid too and he gets jealous at the thought of the ridiculous idea. Both him and Damian hate these rumors and just want everyone to mind their own business.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Three - Your father has taken notice of your blossoming interest in a certain dark-haired northerner.

Ch 4

“The boy is looking at you again.” Your father drawls, moving his elephant across the cyvasse board with disinterest.

You take a sip of your wine and hum in response, moving one of your trebuchets forward.

He clicks his tongue. “Bad move, little lion, that leaves me free to attack your king.”

You glance at the board and curse internally; you have been far too distracted by Jon’s barely subtle stares to properly play the game. “Perhaps I am simply letting you win, you are getting older, Father, it is only the kind thing to do.”

Your father raises an eyebrow and delivers his final move. “Ah yes, it is kindness that distracts you, not the strapping lad who seems he will burst into flames if he does not look at you every three seconds.”

You glance over at Jon, who swiftly turns his attention back to Arya, correcting her stance out in the training yard, the ground freshly cleared of snow.

You and your father have taken a seat on one of the benches within one of the entrances to the guest chambers that spills out into the yard. It’s the perfect mixture between the warmth inside and the crisp morning air outside.

“I have not the faintest idea what you speak of.” You say, popping a grape into your mouth and chewing slowly, trying to hide your smile from your father.

He sighs and shakes his head. “All those years spent teaching you to mask your emotions, to have the perfect expression that never reveals anything, gone with the simple presence of a dark-haired northern boy who does naught by train and brood.”

“He reads as well.” You say, unable to stop yourself from defending Jon.

“Oh, does he now? Someone send word to the Grand Maester, we have found his newest acolyte.” He snorts, taking a drink from his glass.

You wrinkle your nose in response. “You are quite humorous, Father, truly you could put the court fool out of a job.”

He sets his wine down and heaves a heavy sigh. “You know I only ever wish for your happiness.”

“Yes, it is why you are my favorite father in the whole continent.” You smile teasingly, pulling your cloak closer around you as the wind picks up.

“But he is a bastard—”

“You said all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes, and yet you are still a man worth respect and titles.” You cut in, surprising even yourself with your outburst.

“Y/N.” Your father says sternly, laying his hands flat on the table.

You duck your head. “Sorry, Father.”

“He is a bastard, he cannot be your husband. A lover, or a guard, yes, but not a husband. If we were not Lannisters, if our house was not as it was, then perhaps it would be allowed. Gods know I do not wish to force you into a marriage you despise, but you are still a lady, still have the potential to win over great victories for our family.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning his words over in your mind. “Are you suggesting I proposition him, like Queen Rhaenyra did Ser Criston Cole?”

“I am not suggesting anything, I do not wish to think of my only daughter as a lady grown, but if you must follow Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps…perhaps it is a Lord Harwin Strong you should seek instead.” His tone is careful, teetering the line between fatherly advice and the words of a Lannister.

You toy with the edges of your cloak. “Jon cares much for his honor, it would be shameful to even ask him such a thing.”

Your father’s hand covers your own. “That bleeding heart of yours, it comes straight from your mother.”

You smile. “And you, as well, do not downplay your kindness. An unkind father would have shipped me off to the richest man who asked for my hand the moment I first bled.”

He shivers in disgust at the thought.

Your eyes drift over to Jon and Arya, the latter who has been distracted by the appearance of Sansa and Joffrey.

“Perhaps a guard then, you could do worse than a guard you have grown alongside, it breeds loyalty.” Your father muses, watching how Jon shifts to put himself between Arya and Joffrey.

You cringe when Joffrey challenges Jon to a playful duel, ignoring your father’s words. “This will not go well.”

“Perhaps it will be good for your cousin’s ego to be beaten into the ground by someone he deems below him.”

You meet your father’s eyes and you both burst into laughter.

“Y/N, Uncle, stop laughing and come, all must witness this display of skill.” Joffrey calls, beckoning you both over.

“I cannot, Nephew, I must meet with your Uncle Jaime.” Your father calls back, hopping down from the bench.

“Father.” You hiss, silently begging him not to leave you with Joffrey.

He pats your hand. “You will be fine, stiff upper lip, little lion, remember?”

You groan and pout at him, but he shoos you forward.

Sansa crushes your hand as you watch Jon and Jeffrey spar, it’s clear Jon is holding back, you’ve seen him training, he puts more effort into hitting the dummies than he does attempt to hit Joffrey.

“Should you not cheer for your cousin?” Sansa asks.

The thought has never crossed your mind, and now it makes your stomach turn. “I would not want to break his concentration.” You say gracefully, trying to keep your eyes on the clashing swords and not Jon.

“Who cares?” Arya cheers, “Go Jon, knock him flat.”

Jon flashes her a smile, one born of confidence and the rush of near victory, and your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can imagine him competing in a tourney. His polished armor flashing in the sun, ripping his helmet off and letting it fall to the ground, his curls set free as he directs that smile towards you, the crown of roses in his hand naming you his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Good work, My Prince, hit him hard.” Sansa cheers in direct opposition of her sister.

Joffrey turns towards Sansa, basking in her praise. A fatal mistake, his distraction allows Jon to knock him to the ground.

The action rips a gasp from you, not many aside from your Uncle Jaime would dare to knock Joffrey off his feet.

Your cousin lies there stunned, then he darts up, sputtering, his face turning red as he hurls insults at Jon, before storming off, Sansa jumping up to follow after him.

You catch her arm. “Lady Sansa, I would leave him to his solitude, my cousin is not fond of sharing in his embarrassment.”

Sansa looks as if she wishes to argue, but relents and turns to scold Arya for her cheering.

Jon’s gaze falls upon you, he hasn’t even broken a sweat, his eyes the color of a winter storm in the sunlight.

Perhaps a guard then. Your father’s words echo in your mind. You didn’t need to follow in Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps, you could follow in Queen Alicent’s. Your maester had spoken of the pure and courtly bond between her and Ser Criston Cole when you were young, and you had been enraptured by the devotion Ser Cole had to his queen.

“Well done, Lord Jon.” You say, giving him a smile and a slight nod of your head as you take a step forward, then another until you are standing before him. Then you lean in, “though I would not have protested if you bruised his jaw when you knocked him flat.”

A slight smile tugs at Jon’s lips, and your eyes dart down to them.

He sucks in a breath, then takes a step back, putting more space between you, an overly appropriate amount of space. “Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“Y/N, or if we must use titles, Lady y/n.”

Jon swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat. He has a nice throat, well-formed, pale with a smattering of dark stubble where it meets his chin. He must be freshly shaved, there’s a slight nick near his right ear.

You must get a hold of yourself, a nice throat? Y/N, you are shameful. You chastise yourself internally, tearing your eyes from him.

“As you wish, Lady y/n.” He whispers, his voice nearly stolen by the wind.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss

[siravalondulac]

that silhouette | j. snow x fem!oc

summary: and then she was here and jon knew - he would be safe in her arms. always.

warnings: smut, p in v, woman on top, bottom jon snow

Silken drapes swayed softly from the canopy above him. The open balcony doors let in a cold breeze that chilled him to the bones. Rays of light from the crescent moon offered him a meagre look at his surroundings.

Jon didn't know whose bed he was lying in. Nor did he know whose room he was in.

The mattress dipped beside him, and before he knew it, she entered his view.

“Elle.”

Her braid fell over her shoulder, the brown almost black in the darkness. The blue of her eyes seemed to glow before him, making his heart beat faster. She smiled.

“Hush, my love.” She lowered her face towards his. “We do not want to wake the Others, do we?”

As his chest rose it touched hers. Only for a moment, and with layers of clothing between them, but still.

Her left hand came up to his face, her fingers lightly ghosting along his jaw, before laying down on his cheek.

Jon’s breath hitched, and then she closed the distance between their lips.

She was cold and soft and gentle, slow and controlling and wonderful. He would never let himself forget the taste of her lips, how they moved against his, the way she slowly coaxed his mouth open with her tongue. He obeyed, of course. She could do whatever she wanted with him, and he would let her.

Sometime during this, Elle had straddled his lap. He only realised after she had started grinding herself against him, burying both of her hands in his hair to get a better grip. She swallowed his moans, never once detaching herself from his lips.

Jon's hands clutched the blanket beneath him. He was getting hard, and uncomfortably quickly at that. His hips started bucking upwards, meeting Elle's halfway.

She moved her mouth away from his, allowing him to catch his breath, if only for a moment. Because soon afterwards, she started sucking on a spot right over his throat that made him let out a moan.

Elle smiled against his skin.

“You are allowed to touch me as well, my love. It would be a shame if you did not.”

His hands soon found their way underneath her shirt, gently running up and down her sides, making her shiver. And somehow, that reaction made him proud.

Her mouth left his skin as she quickly discarded her shirt and then helped him get out of his. Their pants followed.

She sat bare above him, and Jon could do little else but stare. Stare at her beautiful body, her small breasts, her strong legs.

He raised his hand and let it run down the underside of one of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and something in her smile changed. Not for the worse, thank the gods. No, it became a tad softer, more intimate - a smile shared between lovers.

As if in response, Elle moved her hips, and he wanted to pass out on the spot. Her centre rubbed over the underside of his cock, her wetness making it all the more pleasurable.

She lowered her mouth back on his, quieting his moans as he gripped her hips with both hands. He didn't even know what he wanted to do, stop her or encourage her to keep on moving, please keep on moving, never stop moving.

Her left hand travelled down his body, her nails raking over his stomach and drawing dangerously close to his dick. She smiled against his mouth at the increased movement of his hips.

“Please”, he begged quietly. “I need you.”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Her hand encircled his dick, pumping once, twice before she raised her hips above it.

Jon held his breath.

The moment his tip was enveloped by her walls he almost came. She was so soft and warm and wrapped around him so perfectly. But he forced himself to hold back. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down on him, her mouth never once leaving his.

How did he come to be so lucky? Never once in his life had anyone ever spared him a second look and now he was in the arms of the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, being treated like he was worth more than all the gold in the kingdom.

He finally bottomed out inside of her. Elle pressed their foreheads together, apparently needing to catch her breath as much as he did.

They fit together so perfectly. His dick sat snugly between her walls and her chest pressed against his so closely, he could feel her beating heart.

One of her hands found his, still gripping her hips tightly, and interlaced his fingers with hers. She pulled both of them upwards and laid them gently onto the pillow beside Jon's head. So gently, never letting go, as if it was the only anchor that kept her in this world.

Elle moved her face away from his and opened her eyes. He had never been able to fully nail down what shade they were, appearing intense like ice one night and deep like the ocean the next. But now, with the way they glowed through the darkness, neither seemed like an apt way to describe them.

Then, she started moving.

Jon breathed in deeply in surprise, his mouth dropping open. It took everything in him not to moan loud enough to wake the entire Keep.

Her hips moved around in circles, slowly at first, then gradually increasing their speed. Her walls clenched around his cock, making him whimper and buck his hips upwards. She smiled, and started moving properly, her hand never once letting go of his.

He didn't know when or how it happened, but Elle's hair had come loose from her braid. It now fell in gentle curls just below her shoulders.

A crown would suit her well, he thought. One made of the finest of golds, inlaid with rubies the colour of blood. And her hair would be decorated with blue flowers the shape of stars, like the ones he had seen in Winterfell's glass gardens.

She bounced faster and faster on top of his cock, the slapping resounding throughout the room. His moans had turned into soft whimpers long ago. And yet, throughout all this, her eyes had never left his.

Jon was close, so close. He could tell Elle was too, the way her breathing had quickened just like his, the way her walls started spasming around his dick.

He knew he would never leave her. They belonged together, like sun and moon, like wolf and lion, like ice and fire. As long as he was with her, nothing would happen to him.

Just a bit more, he was standing right at the edge. Everything inside of him felt so good. The sweat and tears would all be worth it. He only needed one last push, then he would come. And once he did he would make Elle his-

Jon awoke with a jolt.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Thankfully, he tried telling himself. He had not broken his vows. Even if he, technically, hadn't taken them yet.

His clothing was drenched in sweat and his dick was so painfully hard. He wanted - needed - to relieve himself, but even thinking about that brought his mind back to his dream. Back to Elle and how she fit so wonderfully-

No! He would not think about her, especially not in that way. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch, and she was his friend. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jon looked around the room, studying his friends’ faces, wondering if he had made any sounds in his sleep that would have disturbed them in their sleep. But no one seemed to be awake.

He took in a deep breath and fell backwards onto his pillow again.

(The bed in his dream had been softer.)

He turned around and pressed his hips into the mattress, pleading for his hard-on to go away quickly.

(Much like how his dick had gotten hard so quickly as soon as he had seen her in his dream.)

His uncle had told him he would regret joining the Watch at his age, before he had experienced any of what made a man. Jon had wanted to laugh at him back then. But he didn't want to laugh now.

Why did his life have to be so difficult?

note: if you are intrigued by this one-shot and elle, might i direct you to the story this is inspired by: meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight?

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

a forceful and sloppy wet kiss with cregan after giving him the best 🧠 of his life 🙏🙏🥰🥰

him grabbing you by your hair and pulling you up to kiss him..…and essentially he is tasting himself on your tongue 😩😭😍 ugh plzzz its so dominant yet loving and affectionate 🤰🤰

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Westeros Masterlist

I haven't written for Asoiaf in so long. But house of the dragon has sparked my interest in the universe again. So here it is <3

From beyond the Wall

Jon Snow x Wildling Princess! Reader

and yes I do know this gif is not from game of thrones, but Kit Harrington is so fine in Pompeii.

Summary: I don't remember where I put the summary so this is blank for the time being.

Part 1

Where Kings Land

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

Summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

Part 1

[sunlitgotham]

Spartan's Uniform, and some random doodles from Sunlit Gotham

[trashbin-nie]

Weather The Storm (Jey Uso x Mixed! OC)

Do NOT copy/translate my fics. Reblogs are always welcome!

Summary: Rosa Winters NXT women's champion, cousin Trinity (aka Naomi), introduces her to Josh Fatu, her boyfriends brother, and they hit it off this is their story

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, fluff. This story WILL contain sexual content so minors DNI

Word count: 1728

Thanks for reading, y'all. I haven't posted many stories here, but I figured I'd throw my hat in the pot or whatever the saying is 😅 regardless enjoy!

_____________________

Chapter 1: Runaway Mistakes

NXT, formerly FCW, was in full effect. Camera's were up, fans were screaming, and as usual I sat in my corner of the makeup room, my headphones blasting All Time Low in my ears as Mandy gave me a few touch-ups before I went to the ring.

“Ooooh Rosie lookin like a hot tamalé tonight,” Trin said, pulling off my headphones I turned to Trin a small glare on my face yanking my headphones back from her then returning to look at Mandy who had sent Trin and I a glare of her own before she continued.

I was dressed in my usual westling gear, granted this was a new design, but I was always in full white top to bottom. She also never usually said anything about it, which could mean only one thing. “Mhm, Trin, whatchu want?” I asked, opening one eye to look at her, seeing she had her shiny new boyfriend Jonathan (Jon) Fatu, better known as Jimmy Uso with her. “Whaddup Jon.”

“Not much Ro, not much,” Jon said shaking his head.

“Oh please, I can't just come see my beautiful cousin, who I love more than anything?” She said, throwing her hands up.

“No, you can't. You tryina butter me up,” I said, raising my brows.

“Fine,” She drawled, “You know Jon's brother Josh, right?” She asked. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

“You've told me about him, but I never met him,” I said wearily, hopping from Mandy's chair.

“Well, that's about to change! Rosa meet Josh, Josh meet Rosa,” Trin said.

I whipped around so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if I got whiplash or broke my damn neck, and sure enough, there was another over-six-foot, Samoan man who was undeniably gorgeous. I've never met someone who's caught my eye this fast.

‘Trin gone done set my ass up without even warning me!’ I thought my eyes widening.

We stood there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity until Josh cleared his throat.

“Uh, Hi. Nice to meet you ma’,” he said, sticking his hand out.

I looked from his eyes to his hand a few times before shakily grabbing it and squeaking out, “Nice to meet you too, Josh,” and scurrying off to prepare for my match against Bayley.

Trin POV

“Did I scare her?” Josh asked, watching Rosa practically run away.

“Nah uce, she's just like that,” Jon said.

“She's always been pretty introverted. At least until she gets in the ring then full-on Rosa Winters comes out. Although she did say something to you so that's better than usual,” I said, Jon nodded in agreement.

We stood in front of the TV and the lights in the arena switched off a white light and smoke coming from the entrance way and Rosa’s music hit.

‘Fire’ by Sleeping With Sirens.

The boy's eyes were glued to the screen as Rosa emerged from the guerrilla only her eyes showing.

This was their first time seeing her live and her entrance was always a shocker since, for the most part, they went to commercials during it. We all watched as Rosa flipped down the ramp before leaping to the apron and flipping over the top rope pulling the hood and mask from her body leaving her in just her bodysuit and pants.

“Winter is coming! Entering the ring first, Rosa Winters!” The ringside announcer said.

The camera zoomed in on her face, a cocky smirk and a fire in her eyes.

“Entering the ring, her opponent,and current regning womens champion! Bayley!” The ring announcer said.

Rosa tilted her head sizing her up, this is her second match with Bayley in our 3 years here, and she was about four inches taller than Rosa who stood at a whopping five feet two inches, but don’t get it twisted she knew how to throw her weight around enough to take down even large strong men.

I’ve seen her take down Joe, Jon’s cousin, on more than a few occasions during training and he had over a foot and over 100 pounds on her.

The boys watched in awe as Rosa flipped Bayley with all her acrobatic moves until finally she made her submit after hitting her with the Icebreaker and dragged her into an armbar.

“Dayum. Girls got moves!” Jon said.

“You already knew that uce,” Josh said not taking his eyes off the screen.

I was watching Josh. I knew about his little crush on Rosie that's why Jon and I introduced him in the first place.

“Your winner by submission and new NXT women’s champion, Rosa Winters!” The ringside announcer yelled.

“YES SHE DID IT!” I yelled jumping up and down while holding Jon’s arm.

The look on Rosa's face was something no one could put a price on. The giant smile I hadn't seen on her face in years since she qualified for the USA Olympic Gymnast team. She was so proud of herself. As she stared at her new belt.

Once she made her way backstage I tackled her in a hug.

“Rosalinda Maria Santos-Winters, I haven’t been as proud of you as I am now since the Olympic qualifiers!” I said, she hugged back just as forcefully.

“Government name aside, thank you!” She said, and as soon as I let go Jon pulled her into a hug of his own.

“Congrats girl! You looked damn good out there!” He said squeezing her so hard I could practically see her turning Blue.

“Jon let her go ‘fo you kill her!” I said. Jon let her go and she took a big breath giving him a giant smile.

“Thanks Jon, I really appreciate it,” she said giving him her own little squeeze afterwards.

“You looked great out there ma’, congratulations you deserve it,” Josh said scratching the back of his head, sending her a small smile. He offered her an awkward handshake as a congratulations, most likely because we told him she's very shy.

Rosie looked down embarrassed a blush spreading across her face before she said, “Thanks Josh, I know we only just met but I truly do appreciate it.”

I watched as Rosie looked from his hand to his eyes before walking towards him giving him a short but sweet hug.

Josh froze like a statue and didn't hug her back, I mentally smacked him over the head, and after she does run from this to the locker room to change I might actually slap him.

She's throwing him a bone, a small lifeline to become her friend and he's messing up.

Almost as quickly as it began she pulled away an even redder blush on her face.

“I-I'm sorry, I should’ve asked and now it's weird I just- I wasn't- I'm sorry,” she said speed-walking away pulling her hood up.

“Wait I- goddammit!” Josh said as Rosie left our sight. “I'm stupid. She gave me a hug and I just stood there?! What is wrong with me?!”

“Boy, you damn well know the girl like a cat the littlest things set her off!” I yelled, smacking him in the back of the head. He yelped. “What was you thinkin leavin her hangin like that?!”

“I wasn't tryin to, I just froze. I wasn't expecting it especially after how introducin myself went!” He yelled, smacking his face into his hands.

“You better go an’ find her uce, apologize or sumin,” Jon said.

“You right, Imma go right now,” he said walking, or well running off.

“He like her so much he didn't know what to do wit himself,” I laughed.

“I told you Trin, my lil’ bro has the hots for her, he down bad,” Jon said.

I shook my head. He was adorable.

Rosie POV

God why would I go and do that?! I can’t believe I did that.

I shoved the door to the womens locker room open before sliding down in slamming my hands in my face.

“Why do I do this every time!? Ugh stupid, stupid, stupid!” I said slapping myself over and over. I sighed pulling my hands down my face before forcing myself to stand, and heading to my locker. I pulled out an oversized yellow sweater that hung to my knees, black leggings, and platform black and white converse. Taking a quick shower I dried off and threw on my clothes, my grey twists pulled into a bun on top of my head before packing up my bag and heading out.

I opened the door my phone in hand as I collided with a chest. Disoriented I backed up and looked up only to be met with the chocolate brown eyes of Josh, or Jey Uso.

“Oh, uh hi?” I said an awkward smile appearing on my face.

“Hey,” he said. We just stood there staring at each other.

I broke the eye contact to look to the floor, “Listen, I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldnt’ve went and hugged you without permission I just thought-”

I stopped short when he pulled me into a light hug, “It’s fine ma’ I was just surprised… Congratulations Rosie, you deserve it,” he said. I returned the light hug my heart racing.

“Thank you Josh, it means a lot,” I smiled pulling away.

“I think we started wrong, whadda you say can we start from the beginning?” Josh asked.

“That’d be nice,” I laughed, “maybe I can actually introduce myself and not run away.”

“We’ll see ma’,” he laughed. I smiled up at him, his smile was as infectious as his laughter. “Hi, my name is Joshua Fatu, you can call me Josh. It’s nice to meet you ma’.”

“My name’s Rosalinda Santos-Winters, but you can call me Rosie,” I said smiling.

“Well Rosie what chu think about heading back to my brother, and yo’ cousin?” He asked.

“Sounds great Josh,” I said following behind with my backpack and suitcase.

“What chu doin wit dem bags ma’? Gimme the damn thing,” he said grabbing my suitcase I laughed letting him take it.

“I’m a big girl I’m capable of dragging my suitcase ya’ know,” I said crossing my arms so he couldn’t steal my backpack.

“Maybe, but still you my friend now ma’ I’m tryna be a gentleman,” he said.

“Mhm, sure you are,” I said. He rolled his eyes, settling for just my rolling suitcase.