warnings: implied siblings incest; emotional incest; childhood trauma; religious guilt; sex; oberyn is 20; doran doesn't exist in this au; oberyn is a good daddy but a bad husband; OC is not a reliable character, take a spoon of salt when you read her POV; no rebellion AU; tags may change about the rebellion tho; melara may be unlikeable
pairings: Oberyn Martell x F!Original Hightower Character (Melara Hightower); Minor Elia Martell x Oberyn Martell; Elia Martell x Rhaegar Targaryen
Chapter 1 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 11
Chapter 2 | Chapter 7
Chapter 3 | Chapter 8
Chapter 4 | Chapter 9
Chapter 5 | Chapter 10
the night we met one shot (ao3)
pairings: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand; Ellaria Sand x Loreza Sand
warnings: coping with grief, angst, fluff, falling instantly in love, mentions to elia’s death
let me fill you up. one shot (ao3) - f!targaryen reader x jaime lannister
warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (18+) rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;
to tame a dragon. one shot (ao3) f!brat tamer! reader x rhaenyra targaryen
warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (18+) established relationship, queen rhaenyra targaryen, sub/dom dynamics(reader dom rhaenyra sub), oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, mentions of voyeur, some gender dysphoria on reader’s part(?), reader is really engaged in pleasing rhaenyra, no age gap, reader has no physical description, , rough sex, team black won AU, please tell me if there’s any tag left!
let me be yours (ao3) - rhaenyra targaryen x f!martell! reader
part I | part II
warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (18+), afab reader, bisexual rhaenyra, canon divergence, longing, age gap (you early 20s rhae mid 30s), fingering, masturbation, oral sex, sub/dom dynamics (rhae dom you sub), overstimulation, scissoring, queen rhaenyra targaryen, nipple play, possessive rhaenyra
what am I to you? series (ao3) - sansa stark x jaime lannister
warnings: UNDERAGE DEAD DOVE, THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE STORY, modern au, sansa begins at 15 and it’s 24 on the last chapter, grooming, toxic relationships, situationship, virginity loss, angst, naive sansa, hopeless romantic sansa, groomed sansa, toxic jaime, predator jaime, this is not bashing is just a storyline that i can’t get out of my head (I have been in her place), fingering, dry humping, unplanned pregnancy, coercion, abortion
chapter I | chapter IV | chapter VII | chapter X
chapter II | chapter V | chapter VIII
chapter III | chapter VI | chapter XI
joel miller
guy next door series (ao3)
pairing: joel miller x female oc (angie reed)
tags: fluff, long fic, romance, slight angst eventually, oc has no physical description, oc is early 20s joel is late 20s, eventual smut, slow burn, mentions of infidelity, no outbreak au!, 2003 au!, soft joel, good daddy joel, sarah going into her teenage dirtbag phase, trust issues, domestic fluff, protective joel, eventual sex.
I honestly have no idea of when I’ll be postíng again. It’s been three months ever since I lost my mum and I’m kind of all alone now because I have no family to rely on so you know, have to work and study and juggle them both, so, writing is not really viable now unfortunately.
But I do miss writing for her and asoiaf characters in general. So so so grateful for this moment in my life :’) hope I can go back writing once more one day
If Westeros had a picture book to teach preschoolers the house sigils and words, Eric Carle would write and illustrate it. Inspired by Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?
Thank you so much @weltsarchives for tagging me for: "People you'd like to get to know better" game.
Last song: The Only Thing Left - Vincent Lima
Last book: N/A. It's been so long since I've read a book. It's been a bit since I've read fanfiction.
Last movie: Christopher and His Kind [2011]. (It was a good hour and half movie, made me want it more fleshed out though by the end.)
Favorite color: Lavender but partial to pastels in general.
Spicy, sweet or savoury: Spicy. Especially East Asian foods.
Last show: Watcher: Ghost Files. (I laughed so hard I cried. Shane and Ryan make me happy)
Current obsession: To the shock of no one: HotD and my OC Rhagerys. Some of my other OCs that I've been working on. But also everyone else's OCs. I have come to really enjoy learning about them. And painting my art project, I got them momentum and I'm going to get it done.
Last search: Syrax. I had to make sure I had the colors right for my little art project (And close enough).
Looking forward to: Finishing up my fanart challenge I gave myself. I'm halfway done painting everyone's clothing. The rest of my prints of the artwork I commissioned to arrive. And "Caught Stealing". My fingers are so crossed that it comes to where I live (I want to see Matt Smith on the big screen).
Last book: still working on the unabridged journals of sylvia plath. the book is thick and i’m lazy 🙃
Last movie: honestly don’t remember… it’s been a while. watching a lot of yt videos on recent mainstream movies, but nothing really i want to watch. hearing good things about sinners and superman but i’m tired of vampires and superheros, so idk.
Favorite color: deep blue
Spicy, sweet or savoury: if i can only have one: savoury. but a good mix of all those three is the best. think pad thai with copious amounts of sriracha. i would also add heaps of coriander. heavenly.
Last show: succession. rewatched recently. it’s still good. even though some parts of it is already outdated, but no other show topped it so far.
Current obsession: true crime videos. it’s weird. my anxiety goes overdrive; i cry and rage; and there’s zero pleasure. but i’m still clicking the next video! it’s miserable.
Last search: art exhibition in my area. i’m going to one right now.
Looking forward to: this summer to end. hate hate hate summer! 😭
Thank you for the tag @mermaidslabyrinth @dr-aegon 💛💛
Last Song: Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey
Last Book: Nothing recent. I haven’t been able to concentrate enough for that lately.
Last Movie: Lord Of The Rings trilogy rewatch at the weekend.
Favourite Colour: Green, specifically dark and/or forestry shades.
Spicy, Sweet, Or Savoury: Very much sweet.
Last Show: Technically HOTD as I’ve been watching some episodes as I’ve been giffing it.
Current Obsession: Ewan Mitchell’s nose? 🤭 But in seriousness, I have no energy to have an obsession at the moment.
Last Search: How to reinstall windows 10 (my laptop unrecoverably blue-screened me 😭)
Looking Forward To: My family is having a small summer party in August where I’ll see some family/family friends I haven’t seen since last year, so that will be nice.
No Pressure Tags: @thought--bubble @heretherebebookdragons @livmondcole @vipervixxen @lonelyvampx @theold-ultraviolence @anjelicawrites @snowblack-charcoalwhite @schniiipsel @phantasyfictionist @the-dendrophile-bookdragon @peachessndreamss @aemondstark @just-some-random-blogger @pendragora @sylasthegrim @troublesomesnitch @venmondiese @aemondsbabygirl @tuserlivia (and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in 💛)
“I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita.”
– Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
ao3 | masterlist
pairing: sansa stark x jaime lannister
warnings: UNDERAGE DEAD DOVE, THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE STORY, modern au, consensual underage sex, grooming, toxic relationships, situationship, virginity loss, angst, naive sansa, hopeless romantic sansa, groomed sansa, toxic jaime, predator jaime, this is not bashing is just a storyline that i can’t get out of my head (I have been in her place), fingering, dry humping, unplanned pregnancy, coercion, abortion
a/n: whoa, it's been so long since I last posted a fic here. I hope y'all give me your honest thoughts because I'm so insecure with my writing lately. anyways. enjoy!
ACT I - Enchantment
Lights, camera, acción
If he likes me, takes me home[...]
Jaime had been a constant presence throughout Sansa’s life, always in the background yet somehow unforgettable. He had met her family through his brother-in-law, Robert, who’d been a close friend of her father’s for as long as she could remember. The bond between the three men had formed easily, and soon, Jaime became a familiar face during her childhood summers and holidays.
Sansa always felt a curious warmth rise to her cheeks whenever Jaime was near. A rush of color that matched the auburn in her hair. There was something about his easy charm and confidence that made him stand out, even in a room full of her father’s friends. While she was still learning the world, Jaime already seemed to command it. His blonde hair shone as it contrasted with the sun, his green eyes could fit a whole universe within. For her, it was nothing more than a foolish crush, something unreachable. He was a charming man, made her smile even as he kept his distance, Sansa’s mother cherished him as a beloved friend of the family, her brothers held him in high regard as a role play of a ‘cool uncle’ and so did she. Sansa admired Jaime from afar.
Her admiration had turned into something heavier, something she couldn’t shake. Jaime was no longer just the enticing figure of her childhood memories; he had become the standard against which she unconsciously measured everyone else.
“Uncle Jaime,” she greeted him at her youngest brother's birthday. His smile was warm, calm and made her heart flutter, drowning Sansa's attention like a moth to a flame. That day, she was no older than thirteen and just took off her braces, flaunting her smile with no ceremony.
Her dress had been a pale blue chiffon, bought specially for the occasion, and her mother had twisted her hair into soft curls. She remembered how Jaime’s eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than politeness demanded, and how he ruffled her brother’s hair before turning back to her with a look she couldn’t quite name. Fondness, perhaps, or mild surprise.
"You’ve grown up since I last saw you, little bird," he said then, voice rich with amusement, a touch of something else beneath it. The nickname, little bird, wasn’t cruel the way it was when Joffrey used it to taunt Sansa. Jaime made it sound like a compliment, a secret between the two of them.
She blushed, heavily. “Thank you.” Sansa nodded, feeling a slight flinch of validation and secretly thriving inside. Like the little girl that she is, she trusted Jaime enough to hug him as a way to show her affection, maybe to kill the crave she felt in her chest, no matter how distant and dysfunctional it felt like.
“No need to thank me,” he commented, parting the embrace to sit while she remained standing up, twirling her dress ever so slightly, a silly manner to contain the fireworks imploding within. “are you getting good grades in school?”
Sansa nodded, aiming to please. Jaime, in the meantime, lit up a cigarette in front of the girl. He wasn't exactly known to be a guy too keen on sparing the youngest to booze, smoke and bad mouthing. Being politically correct wasn't a strength in his family, being earnest. Maybe that's what made him so close to Robb and Bran, even Arya. Sansa was a good kid, easy to deal with. Her mother never struggled with her sleep as a baby, nor sending her to the shower. She always knew what was expected of her, to be a role model. Perfect behaviour, always brushed her teeth, did her hair on her own.
Maybe that is why she felt the most lonely, invisible even. Her parents were always tending to see the problems of the children, but when Sansa seemed so perfect, why bother to cater to her needs of attention? That is where Jaime thrived. He saw her, he bonded with such subtle affection that made them connect almost in a fatherly way. Jaime gave what she needed, in the small moments they would share. She wrinkled her nose at the smoke but said nothing. He noticed, of course, Jaime noticed everything, but he didn’t stub it out. Just tilted his head slightly, watching her like he was trying to remember something and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“That’s good,” he said, finally, voice trailing out like the smoke from his lips. “Your mother still goes mad over your grades?”
Sansa hesitated, her fiddling motions slowing until the hem of her dress settled around her knees. “She’s busy now. Mostly with Rickon.” The name dropped like a stone between them, heavier than it should have been.
Jaime chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. “Ah, the wild one. He leaned back, eyes narrowing with thought. “But I guess it runs in the blood.”
“In all of us?” she asked, a quiet challenge under her breath.
“In most of you,” he answered, smiling without warmth. “except maybe you. You were always the porcelain one.”
Sansa flinched at that, not visibly, but he could see it, something in her shoulders, tensing and defensive, even when she knew she had no need of it with Jaime. With him, she had a space free of judgement. “Porcelain cracks,” she said.
Jaime looked at her then, really looked. He tapped the ash from his cigarette. “And cuts.” Touchè.
There was silence again, this time gentler. The kind that grew in the spaces between people who'd known each other too long and not well enough.
Then, mercifully, the sound of Rickon yelling from the garden outside broke the spell. A dog barked. A door slammed. The house was alive again.
Sansa rose slowly. “I should go help with the cake.”
Jaime gave her a nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go. Before your brothers burn the place down.”
But even as she tried to laugh it off, just a harmless crush, just a nonsensical thing, she couldn't deny it anymore. The weight of it had shaped too much of her. She didn't want any boys, they were silly, stupid, obnoxious. Sansa believed she wanted Jaime.
Years progressing, she bloomed into a lively teenager of fifteen years old, boys surrounded her and still, Jaime was the constant that made her cling to a feral wish for him to be her first kiss and everything further. And driven by this sense of legacy, at family gatherings, both families pressured - her mother and aunt Cersei, to be precise - Joffrey, Jaime’s nephew, to pursue Sansa and encouraged them to date, but it was of no effect on her.
In a joyful day at her family's lake house to a relaxing holiday weekend for the Maiden’s Day, Joffrey followed her all day like a puppy, nagging and giving her mixed declarations that transbord his entitlement over things he considered his. Sansa didn't flinch, she thought of him less of a man, his beauty not nearly compared to his uncle’s. But as cats reign though the day, rats owned the night. Furtively, discreetly and sacredly, Jaime found Sansa that night smoking a cig she stole from his pack in a moment of distraction. He crossed his arms, like a mother finding her child doing something naughty, raised his eyebrows and said. “Put it away. Now.” Stern, simple and clear.
Sansa widened her eyes like a deer in headlights, stood still in embarrassment with nothing to fend for herself. “You do it too, so can I.” She murmured, biting her lower lip.
“If your father sees you with this…-”
“He won't if you don't tell him.” Sansa interrupted him and looked into his eyes, hesitant, scared of him for the first time as he started smoking the cigarette she stole from him.
However, his expression softened as his lungs released the smoke and he sat by her side, thinking about something to say. “Have you done this before?”
She shook her head, silently watching him put the cigar between his lips, who seemed so soft and enticing, at least for the viewers. “Good girl. Keep this away from your mouth. Won't do you any good.”
Sansa complied, once she wanted, or better, craved for his approval. “I promise it if you promise to keep it a secret.”
“A secret it is.” He said, before burning the last traces of the cigarette. “Why were you doing it?”
“I was tense. And annoyed with Joffrey around me all day.”
Jaime chuckled, scratching his beard and shaking his head in a bittersweet amusement. “He was staring at you all day.”
“If he only stared it wouldn't be a problem, I guess,” the young girl replied, humourless. “He is always trying to decide whether he wants to insult or marry me.”
He kept cackling and threw the cigar away, disdaining Sansa's distress regarding his nephew. “It’s a bit of both, I suppose. Part of our family's charm. But wildly misplaced.”
Sansa frowned, cupping her face with her own hands in frustration. “Everyone kind of expects for it to happen, him and I.”
“I've been aware of that.”
“He's unpleasant, I know he's your nephew but… I can't fucking stand him. Even when he thinks he's being nice.” The auburn haired girl stared at the green on the ground, her feet fiddling with the recent trimmed grass.
“He is his parent's son, after all.” Jaime chuckled, his face denying any sign of humour on his beam, self aware and drifting his mind somewhere distant, maybe he saw something of him in Joffrey, thinking deeply.
“But you never encouraged it, though. Why?” She asked, softly on the outside, but bursting with anxiety within, her mind hopeful with an ill wish that he would admit he felt something for her. Even if it meant for him to put it all to lose. Her hopeless romantic side rooted for him to burn all the bridges, as a matter of fact.
Jaime paused for a long time and his eyes lowered, fixed on his own hands as he gathered his thoughts to give Sansa an answer. “You only deserve someone that's yours. Not someone who others chose for you.”
Her gaze lingered a little longer, now fiddling with her hands in a way to suppress her impulsive thoughts, but all in vain once her tongue ran faster than her mouth. “Even if who I want is…” and she trails off. It’s not shyness. It’s the realization of a line being approached, crossed.
Jaime turns to her now, really looking, and his voice is quiet, serious. “Careful, little girl. Some wants don’t fly in straight lines.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” Sansa said, her voice steady, showing hoje stubborn she could be. but beneath it was the undeniable beat of a heart beating too fast for something it shouldn’t want.
Jaime didn’t answer right away. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered on her face. “No,” he said at last, quietly. “But I remember when you were.”
They stare at each other, and for a moment, the world tilts. It would be so easy to lean in, to fall into that memory, or rewrite it. The words settled between them like dust, weightless yet impossible to ignore. Sansa didn’t look away. Neither did Jaime. The air stretched tight, rarefied with the things they felt, but wouldn’t dare to say: history, affection, temptation, restraint. A single breath and it would have tipped, spilled into something irreversible. She saw it in the way his gaze softened, how the corner of his mouth twitched with something that might have been sorrow, or longing, or maybe just the knowledge of all the ways this could go wrong.
It would have been so easy to fall into it. To close the distance. To pretend that age was actually, nothing but a number.
But Jaime moved first, and not toward her.
He stood with a fluid grace that betrayed nothing, brushing a hand through his hair like the tension hadn’t touched him. The spell broke.
“Go to sleep. Your parents are leaving early tomorrow.” He said, his tone lighter now, carefully casual. And then he was gone, leaving Sansa in the hush of the moment he left behind; still and burning, her body buzzing with the nearness of almost. And though she tells herself again and again it was just a crush, just a childish dream, her heart does not listen.
Jaime was everything she thought a man should be: self-assured, captivating, and radiating the kind of ease she only read about in stories or any cheeky romance she watched on the TV. Her feelings lingered, creeping into her daydreams and following her into her sleep, each thought of him impossible to ignore, drawing closer to obsession. And as another year came along, Sansa still bloomed as a flower in a long spring. She grew taller, sharper. Her braces had long since vanished, and the baby fat had melted from her cheeks. Still, the standard never changed.
On her sixteenth birthday, Jaime finally first kissed her, a sunny Saturday afternoon and she would never forget it. The house was filled with friends and family, a beautiful gathering in the quiet, flower-lined suburb where she lived. Blossoms hung from trellises in soft pinks and whites, mirroring the colors of her dress as she moved from guest to guest, caught between the simple happiness of the moment and the quiet anticipation she felt knowing he was there. Jaime watched Sansa from across the room, his gaze lingering a moment longer than he intended as she flitted from guest to guest, her smile bright against the soft pinks and whites that adorned the house.
She was no longer the little girl he remembered but was instead growing into a fine young woman, more graceful and poised than ever. He could feel something complicated, something he couldn’t quite name every time she’d lean in to kiss his cheek or exchange glances with him with a quiet warmth in her eyes. As a matter of fact, he knew exactly what he felt, he just didn’t want to accept it.
So on, the day waned, turning day into night. The house grew quieter without the laughs of her friends and family. Her father, Ned, and her uncle Robert were well into their cups, laughing raucously before nodding off in their chairs. Her mother and aunt Cersei tried in vain to calm them, laughter and frustration echoing softly through the house as they struggled to manage the two men.
Sansa drifted toward the garden, stepping out into the night to steal a moment of calm. Jaime followed her, the murmur of the evening fading as he approached her, watching the soft curve of her face in the moonlight. It was a quiet moment, seemingly suspended in time as he reached out, letting his fingers brush her arm.
“Uncle Jaime.” Her head spinned to look back at him, her cheeks flushed with both the warmth of the evening and the thrill of his presence, as per usual. Her heart beat in quick, fluttering rhythms, and she could barely meet his gaze without feeling her face grow hotter.
“Sansa.” He murmured her name quietly, his voice steady and low, as if savoring the sound. For a moment, he wetted his lips, his eyes intent, searching hers. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice gentler than usual, almost fond.
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze dropped, and she hesitated, caught between wanting to hold his gaze and feeling shy under its weight. The world around them seemed to disappear, the distant sounds of laughter and music from the party fading into the background. He smelled good, a wooden, exquisite scent that filled her nostrils with a fervor that her age and innocence didn’t allow her to experience ever before.
Jaime reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. The air felt thick with something both refused to name, something that made their pulses quicken and her thoughts blur. Jaime felt too close to the sun, following his impulse to see Sansa in an opportunity that no one would see them. He didn’t really care about it, though. As deranged as it sounded, Jaime desired Sansa, yearning for her youth.
“Sixteen years,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “How does it feel?”
“Not very different from yesterday, when I was still fifteen.” Sansa chuckled quietly, leaving some flowers over the table as Jaime approached. She could feel his eyes roaming her figure, practically preying on Sansa. Her stomach coiled as the tension grew thick in the air, the heat of his body mixing on hers. “How did you feel when you were sixteen?”
He paused, his expression thoughtful as he looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t really remember much,” Jaime teased Sansa, taking a chuckle from the younger girl.
“Yeah, it’s been a while ever since.” Sansa teased him back.
“Watch your mouth, little dove,” Jaime warned her in a joking tone, running a hand through his hair, the motion bringing attention to the few strands of silver that had begun to claim his once untarnished gold. Yet, his voice remained calm and subtle, his gaze remained fixed on Sansa and her delicate features.
“I’ve spent a long time trying to forget what I was at sixteen,” Jaime continued, almost as if he hadn't meant to say the words aloud. Silence stirred in the back of the garden, disturbed only by the background sounds of aunt Cersei yelling at uncle Robert for his excessive drinking. Both laughed faintly hearing her overreaction and Jaime took out of her pocket a medium blue velvet box. “I wanted to give you my present right in your hands.”
Sansa looked delighted at her gift. It was exquisite, a golden necklace made of pure gold, a little bird shaped pendant. Her fingers grazed delicately at the piece of jewelry, admiring the care that Jaime had choosing her a gift. Her cheeks were burning red, her heart thumping in her chest when she felt the unshakable feeling of being drawn to Jaime once more. It was torturing for Sansa wanting a man this much, knowing the wrongs of it and the complications it could bring. But her fingers lingered on the smooth gold, tracing the curves of the delicate bird pendant, feeling its weight in her palm. The necklace seemed to shimmer even in the moonlight or the led lights from her garden as Jaime took it from her hand and came over behind Sansa, his scent occupying her nostrils while his large palm revolved her neck.
“You didn’t have to,” Sansa said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaime leaned closer, his nose rubbing on her hair as he fetched the necklace on Sansa, Jaime’s nose smelling the sweet scent of her perfume, fuelling his imagination and lack of self control. Sansa knew better than to accept gifts in hidden places, especially from someone like Jaime, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, something that made her want to forget all the rules, all the consequences.
Jaime smiled, his gaze intense as he watched her fingers on the necklace once they went back on being face to face again. “I wanted to,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Sansa replied, holding the golden bird as she admired it in between her fingers.
Jaime smiled warmly as he took his time to admire Sansa. “It fits your beauty.”
Sansa felt a race of thoughts in her mind, the weight of his gaze settle on her like a heavy cloak. His compliment, though flattering, sent a shiver down her spine. But she chose not to run away from his eyes as he got closer. His tall figure towered over her, despite Sansa being long heighted for her age.
“You're too kind,” she said, her voice soft and almost hypnotized by Jaime, adding the smile on her lips.
Jaime leaned in slightly, his presence pressing against her in the stillness of the garden. He kissed the top of her head, making Sansa sigh under his tender gesture. “Not at all,” he replied quietly, his voice smooth, as if he were savoring each word.
Sansa’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching at the intensity in his words. She could feel the inevitable arousal between them stretch like a taut wire, threatening to snap. And yet, she couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away. She didn’t really wanted, being fully honest. There was something magnetic in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her.
Jaime reached out then, his fingers brushing the back of her hand lightly, a soft, almost tentative touch that sent a rush of warmth through her. His eyes were searching hers, and in that moment, she could feel the shift in the air, like the calm before a storm. “Happy birthday, little bird.”
Sansa gazed at Jaime, decreasing the distance between them once the world fell silent, even though it was filled with yelling behind them. She just couldn’t hear anything else and solely focused on the man in front of her, the one she unhealthily wanted all the time and seemingly, wanted her back. “Thank you.” She whispered, undressing of her innocence.
Led by impulse, Sansa stretched her body, reaching his cheek and kissing him. This time, a longer and deeper kiss, her soft lips tested the waters as she felt Jaime’s breathing heavily in response to her actions. They looked at each other with eyes glistening and screaming a latent and forbidden desire. Sansa kissed Jaime on his other cheek, lingering her nose there as she smelled him once more. She led his hands to the small of her back, placing it there. Jaime, given over to his wrong wills, pressed her body against him, feeling the softness of her skin and the delicacy of her actions on his rough edges.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Sansa nodded, her heart almost ripping off her chest, her body close to combust under his overwhelming touch. “I want you.”
Sansa could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of their clothes, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with hers. She could feel his hand, rough and firm, sliding up her back, just enough to make her shiver.
Jaime’s lips parted, his gaze dark and conflicted, but his body was no longer asking permission, it was speaking louder than anything he could put into words. His thumb traced the curve of her waist, the touch gentle but insistent, as if he were trying to convince himself that this moment was real.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he muttered, though the words lacked conviction, his voice thick with desire.
Sansa’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her breath coming in short gasps as she leaned into him, feeling every inch of their proximity like it was an electric charge. “I don't care,” she whispered.
The honesty in her words was a blessing and a curse all at once. Jaime had always known the way she carried herself, a little girl who always came to him as a role model, someone to see herself into, even transparenting her childlike crush at times. None of it was real anymore. To him, she was now a woman, each time closer to making him commit the biggest mistake of his life, possibly. He could see the way she trembled, the way she was testing her own limits, her innocence slipping away, piece by piece, in his presence. His hands moved, sliding up her spine with a tenderness that contrasted the fire building between them. He cupped her face gently, tipping her head back, his look falling to her lips. The thought of pulling away, of stopping this before they went too far, was there.
“Take what you want, Sansa. I won't stop you.” He said, his voice hoarse, barely audible against the rapid beating of his heart. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, ending the gap between them until their lips met, with a ferocity that left them both breathless. The kiss deepened, urgent and hungry, as though they were both trying to consume each other, to forget the world outside and the consequences waiting just beyond this fragile bubble they had just created. No boy has ever kissed her. And certainly, none of them would do it with such urgence, want, need. His hands squeezed her hips, roamed her slender curves. His recent hair scratched her face as his tongue battled with hers.
Time seemed to stretch, to warp, as they lost themselves in the quiet chaos of their own. Sansa could feel the heat of his chest against hers, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the softness of her own skin, every moment heightening her senses until it felt like she could no longer distinguish where he ended and she began. But just as quickly as it had begun, the weight of the moment pressed down on her again, the fleeting pleasure of being close to him replaced by the dawning reality that this was not a simple thing. This was not just a kiss.
And yet, as Jaime’s lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, leaving a trail of fire behind, she didn’t want to stop him. She needed to make it last forever. Sansa closed her eyes, her pulse erratic, the weight of his words sinking deep into her soul. She wanted to say something, to pull away and remind herself of all the reasons this was wrong, but she couldn’t find the words.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Jaime repeated, whispering in her ear. Instead, she simply nodded, pressing her forehead against his, her heart racing with the knowledge that, for better or worse, she was already too far gone. Her heart had already declared her as his girl. “I know.” She murmured.
[...]Come on, you know you like little girls [...]
so I've been not writing for so long and lately I've been thinking about my life a lot, that's where this writing came from. not sure when I'll post it, but hopefully soon enough. hope I can have your honest feedback!
tw: underage sansa; grooming.
“Sixteen years,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “How does it feel?”
“Not very different from yesterday, when I was still fifteen.” Sansa chuckled quietly, leaving some flowers over the table as Jaime approached. She could feel his eyes roaming her figure, practically preying on Sansa. Her stomach coiled as the tension grew thick in the air, the heat of his body mixing on hers. “How did you feel when you were sixteen?”
He paused, his expression thoughtful as he looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t really remember much,” Jaime teased Sansa, taking a chuckle from the younger girl.
“Yeah, it’s been a while ever since.” Sansa teased him back, staring at his blonde hair that now, with his age hitting his figure, appeared a few strands of discreet white hairs decorating his head.
“Watch your mouth, little dove,” Jaime warned her in a joking tone, running a hand through his hair, the motion bringing attention to the few strands of silver that had begun to claim his once untarnished gold. Yet, his voice remained calm and subtle, his gaze remained fixed on Sansa and her delicate features.
“I’ve spent a long time trying to forget what I was at sixteen,” Jaime continued, almost as if he hadn't meant to say the words aloud. Silence stirred in the back of the garden, disturbed only by the background sounds of aunt Cersei yelling at uncle Robert for his excessive drinking. Both laughed faintly hearing her overreaction and Jaime took out of her pocket a medium blue velvet box. “I wanted to give you my present right in your hands.”
Sansa looked delighted at her gift. It was exquisite, a golden necklace made of pure gold, fitting, for a man who came from a family immersed in mining, a little bird shaped pendant adorning it. Her fingers grazed delicately at the piece of jewelry, admiring the care that Jaime had choosing her a gift. Her cheeks felt that familiar warm she felt around him, her heart thumping in her chest when the unshakable feeling of being drawn to Jaime hit once more. It was torturing for Sansa wanting a man this much, knowing the wrongs of it and the complications it would bring. But her fingers lingered on the smooth gold, tracing the curves of the delicate bird pendant, feeling its weight in her palm. The necklace seemed to shimmer even in the moonlight or the led lights from her garden as Jaime took it from her hand and came over behind Sansa, his scent occupying her nostrils while his large palm revolved her neck.
“You didn’t have to,” Sansa said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaime leaned closer, his nose rubbing on her hair as he fetched the necklace on Sansa, Jaime’s nose smelling the sweet scent of her perfume, fuelling his imagination and lack of self control as he closed the pendant around her neck. Sansa knew better than to accept gifts in hidden places, especially from someone this distant in age, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, something that made her want to forget all the rules, all the consequences. Could be the fervour of the age, a lust for curiosity.
Jaime smiled, his gaze intense as he watched her fingers on the necklace once they went back on being face to face again. “I wanted to,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Sansa replied, holding the golden bird as she admired it in between her fingers.
Jaime smiled warmly as he took his time to admire Sansa. “It fits your beauty.”
what i've always loved about catelyn, is that she doesn't wait for others to do things for her and instead takes matters in her own hands, from the way she goes to king's landing to deliver that warning to ned in person, to how she decides to release jaime, not out of delirious grief but as a calculated gamble for the lives of her daughters. if the amount of narrative agency and voice catelyn gets within asoiaf is meant to be a subversion of the archetype of the plot irrelevant mother of the conventionally heroic main character (robb), then her story is also that of the men in her life doing their very best to put her back into that box of genre expectations. she's reduced to a helpless spectator by both stannis and renly at the parley at storm's end despite being the only voice of reason there. both edmure and robb ignore her advice in acok and later regret doing so. asos opens with her in confinement at riverrun—a marked contrast to the amount of travelling she undertakes in the previous books. and the last thing robb does to catelyn is make arrangements for her to wait out the rest of the war in some tower. (Is this my punishment for opposing him about Jon Snow? Or for being a woman, and worse, a mother?), permanently sidelined and imprisoned far away from the site of narrative action, such a fate effectively undoes her entire character. it's not surprising that she dies in the very next chapter. the freys also intend to take her hostage after robb's murder, but catelyn self harming leads to a change of plans. and if you read her final moments at the twins as one last resistance against that fated passivity, then her returning as lady stoneheart becomes significant in another way.
brienne compares the grey stoneheart dresses in to that of the silent sisters' (Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart.), and is that profession not a means through which westeros discards and punishes its women for having broken social codes, for transgressing westerosi patriarchal ideals. that catelyn's misery doesn't end with her death is doing something similar. she is both being discarded by the narrative—she stops being a POV character, just as she loses her voice ("She don't speak,"—"You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers.") and being punished for having resisted her socially expected passivity. and i know catelyn discussions focus a lot on the mistakes she makes over the course of the books, but i do think her spontaneous decisions would've turned out differently if she had possessed the power her husband and son were given freely by westerosi society. ned wouldn't have had to carry tyrion to the eyrie only to lose him to lysa's jurisdiction, he had the personal authority to conduct a trial all by himself. robb had power and men at command to transport jaime entirely unharmed to king's landing. which is something to consider when discussing her character, that her reasonable decisions (given what information she had, capturing tyrion was the smart thing to do) not panning out well, had a bit to do with the power denied to her as a woman.
westeros's violently misogynistic, feudal patriarchy first suffocates her will, through her slow entrapment by the men around her. and when she finally breaks in her final moments, no longer capable of performing the role of the perfect lady, she's promptly pronounced mad. and then she's brought back as a shell of her former self, hollowed out of everything that defined her as a character and denied a voice, only left with the memories of the wrongs commited against her. i point all this out because catelyn is often talked about as a woman who learns to navigate societal restrictions by having made her peace with them, as if this allowed her to thrive as a lady, as if she was content with her lot in life. that all that went wrong with her life was an unlucky, tragic mistake or two. but that's not true, is it. because there is no way to win as a woman under westeros's feudal patriarchy.
Honestly, I believe it's very possible that Elia could have agreed ( coerced agreement of course) to a mistress for her husband. She is Rhaegar's legally wedded wife, she is both Grown Princess and Princess of Dorne( her family also values her) and she has a son and a daughter. There is no basis for getting the marriage annulled, so her position is ( for the moment) unshakable. She can tolerate a discreet mistress if it means she Rhaegar doesn't give her too much trouble, especially since it means she won't die in childbirth and leave her children in the mercy of a future stepmother's and her family's ambitions.
What is impossible to accept is that she would tolerate a woman in Lyanna's position to be that mistress or the affair to be so public. If Rhaegar bedded and impregnated a random woman ( like Mya Stone's mother) and she gave birth to a son, the matter could have been easily handled with giving her a little bit of money and forcing her to move far away. Noone would have accepted the claim of such a son . If it was a daughter it would be even easier. But any child of Lady Stark wouldn't have been done away with so quickly. That could have been an great danger to her, her children and even grandchildren. She wasn't stupid, even if she believed in "free love" she would have objected to the woman Rhaegar chose.
Sort of being a ruling lady in your own right, Westerosi women, even princesses, have no rights beyond what their male relatives allow.
Rhaella Targaryen was the daughter, granddaughter, and sister wife of kings. And her life was a living nightmare.
She infamously would dismiss her ladies in waiting because Aerys would treat them as his 'whores'.
Elia Martell would look the other way when it came to the affairs of her husband- but there would be no way to ignore or tolerate him displaying a highborn mistress in public.
It just wasn't humilation. It was /dangerous/ to her and her children.
The last time a highborn bastard set his sights on the Iron Throne it plunged Westeros into a conflict that last a hundred and fifty years and only ended in Elia's own lifetime.
Any would any sane person want to see Daemon Blackfyre recreated?
i feel like i’ll need to warn here before i forget about it but i have to announce that from dec 5th to march 23th i’ll be on a hiatus on posting here and publishing my fics.
why is that?
as some of you know, i’m brazilian! and as a very few people know, i’m part of an african-brazilian religion called “Candomblé” and it cultues african deities. check more here (it’s not ideal but it’s the biggest amount of correct information i found on english for my moots)
as a part of the rite of initiation, you’re supposed to:
spend 21 days in your temple doing lots of rituals to mark the birth of your Orisha and yourself, therefore, no phones allowed.
the culmination of it is at a feast where the ‘priest’ or the correct word “Doté” shows the new “Yawô” (name assigned for those who went through the rite) for the community and marking that there’s someone who was born again for their deity who guides this person.
after this, you spend 3 months adapting your body after the enchants made during the rite and i can’t post or actually be active on social media at all, plus all of the other intricacies but feel free to ask me while i still can reply.
Just felt like it was needed to warn people about that because well, I like my moots and I’ll miss them. I’ll enjoy my time as a Yawô but I’ll also be counting the days until I get to see y’all 💖
