you seem pretty sad for a girl so thirsty

moving all my writing here from my other blog @idksmtms 20s - she/her a bunch of fandoms, a bunch of thoughts, most are thirsty :)

[thirstingseason]

(new) Main Masterlist

Zee (she/her) - 20s - currently listening to: you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love by olivia rodrigo and the great divide by noah kahan

currently write for: akotsk, hotd, rivals (for others see request guidelines)

Follow and turn on notifs to know when I post my stories :)

other blog: @idksmtms

Taglist: Pls go on the masterlist for the fandom/character you would like to be tagged for and reply explicitly stating that you would like to be tagged and for what!

Request Status: CLOSED

I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied or translated without my explicit consent. I do not give permission for any of my content to be used for AI or to be related to AI in any way, shape, or form. My content cannot be used or altered in any way without my explicit consent. All content is my own unless stated otherwise in disclaimers. - MDNI!!! Please put your age in your blog and do not interact on my blog if you are under 18!!!

Dividers/Masterlists References

Writing Style/Scheduling Explanation

AO3 (slowly updating this to match tumblr)

Recent Posts from both blogs: another maekar x reader req, maekar x reader req, spoilt DIL!M moment, baelor x reader req, young FILs with DIL!reader, baelor's moustache - DIL!reader, president!baelor drabble 3, sex therapist!baelor, a change in him - baelor, tmm!scene, personality change - DIL!M, president!baelor drabble 2, hot day w/ DILs, president!baelor drabble, too busy - DIL!reader, secret wedding - DIL!reader, swapping DILs - pt & w&p, president baelor p4, revenge trip - pt & w&p, professor!baelor thoughts, pt daughter drabble, aerion tries to win dil!reader back, valarr tries to win dil!reader back, pt and w&p - servant's pov, pt and w&p drabble, president!baelor p3

Masterlists under the cut

other blog masterlists available on this post

AKOTSK

Baelor 'Breakspear' Targaryen

Maekar Targaryen

Ser Duncan the Tall

Aerion Targaryen

Valarr Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Lyonel Baratheon

HOTD

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Misc. HOTD Characters

[thirstingseason]

Scenes From a Marriage (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Request 

A/N: I know it was selfish of me to keep this in inbox and keep rereading it, but I am gollum and this is my fucking ring. Like I felt this somewhere in my heart and in my- anyway. Sorry for keeping it in my inbox for so long but I have finally gotten around to it! 

Summary: Soft, sweet, and smutty scenes in your marriage to Maekar 

Word count: ~3.9k

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), mostly just fluff, a hint of smut (but brief), never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You believed you had figured out your husband by the time your marriage ceremony had finally occurred. You had spent a rather long time in the betrothal stage, likely longer than either your father or mother had hoped. They had become agitated by the end, desperate to see you in the Sept, draped in the Targaryen colours and finally out of their house. Not for any sinister reason of course, they loved you dearly and only wanted the best for you, but the best only came from marrying a prince, and the longer it dallied, the more they worried that the temperamental prince would change his mind. 

You had all been surprised when the raven arrived proclaiming that Prince Maekar, fourth son of King Daeron the Good, wished to marry you. Though you had later found out the truth of the matter from your dear husband, at the time you had frozen with shock. You had only met the man once before, at a rather lovely feast thrown in the gardens at Summerhall when much of the royal family had made their way there for the latest occurring summer months, bringing the hubbub of court with them. 

Your parents had rejoiced of course, though not without commentary at how odd it was that it was this particular prince. They did not wish to demean you by any means with this comment, but only to suggest that he had already gained a reputation for being surly and grumpy, that no one thought he would remarry after the death of his first wife, and that he already had a brood of children and an heir, so he did not necessarily require a wife of your age to provide him with more. If anything, they thought perhaps one of his sons would be the one coming for a look, but neither ones of age had even a sniff in your direction. Instead their father won the lot. 

You and your family were all invited to stay at Summerhall during the length of your betrothal, and that you would only be given leave once the wedding had occurred. You had been giddy with excitement, remembering how lovely it had been the last time, remembering the luscious gardens and pools and surrounding nature, remembering the lovely decor - unique tiles and mosaics and tapestries and everything so full of colour. You had already begun planning the wedding in your head, wondering if it would be possible to request that you be married in the gardens rather than in the Sept. It was not tradition, but why waste such a lovely space? 

You and your entourage arrived to be greeted by the King and Queen, the Crown Prince and his wife, Maekar’s other brothers and wives, his sons and daughters, and of course, the man himself. You had felt instantly intimidated, heart spiking in your chest, but kept on, hoping the tremble in your hands was not too obvious. To each you curtsied, spoke well wishes, smiled as best you could, and then moved on while they still smiled in return. When you finally ended up in front of your betrothed, you had beamed at him, offering your trembling hand for him to kiss and blinking like a lovesick fool. 

He was handsome. You had known this already, remembered from your last meeting, but it struck you again in his presence. You longed to feel his beard yourself, to touch his hair and cheeks and lips. At the time it had made you hot with bashfulness, but now filled you with immense fondness. You had simply been excited that once you were married, you could do as you pleased in that regard. 

He had lifted your hand, bent his head, and pressed a fleeting kiss to your knuckles, barely there. His second son had snorted, an amused yet cruel sound, but he paid him no mind. You could not precisely tell what had been going through your betrothed’s mind at the time. His face was blank, if a little frowning, and you had not come to know the microexpressions of his just yet. 

Maekar had grumbled a “my lady”, then turned away to follow after his father and brothers as they led you all into Summerhall and to your chambers. You had been a little taken aback at his gruffness, a little downtrodden, but you had not let it deter you. Perhaps he was simply shy, you had thought, or unaccustomed to wooing a woman after so much time alone. You would not let it get to you, you had decided.

On each day after that, you had been adamant to spend as much time in his company as you could. He would not even have the option to ignore you, you had made sure of it. You invited him to walks in the gardens in front of people so he would feel too guilty to deny you, begged him to show you around the palace in front of his daughters so that they might egg him on as well, seated yourself near him when everyone took time in the afternoon to recline in a solar or simply conversed with him at the dinner table, poking and prodding him for topics that would interest him. 

And you could see him softening. It was wonderful to watch. You could see the way his eyes began to soften when you hurried up to him, just shy of running, clasping his arm and begging him for another walk to the lovely flower garden you could never figure out how to find on your own. You could see the way his lips twitched when you laughed at a joke, full and unabashed, glancing back to him to see if he found it funny as well. You saw the way he reached for you when you tripped in your enthusiasm or the way he already bent his elbow, ready for you to thread your arm through before you had even reached him. 

It was when this began that a wedding date was finally set, two weeks from when it was announced. Seamstresses hurried, cooks rushed, and though you still held the initial ceremony in the Sept, the reception afterwards was situated in the gardens, exactly as you had wanted. It was perfect. No, more than perfect. It was everything you could have wanted. 

It was later that his truths were revealed to you. That the King and Queen, in their ever-present worry that he was lonely, that a woman was required to run his house and mother his young children, had pressed him into finally agreeing to remarry. They had told him he could choose, that whoever he wished to marry, they would accept, be it a commoner or a queen from another land, just as long as he was finally married, and the only tolerable person that came to mind was you. 

He had remembered you from that feast the year before, you and your pretty smiles and kind words, the way you had danced jovially with Daella and Rhae despite not being an acquaintance, despite having no responsibility to keep the children company when you could have been off drinking and gossiping with your gaggle of ladies. He had remembered your bright smile when he had come to break up your little trio, telling the girls that if they did not go up to bed right that minute then he would tell the cooks to never buy even an ounce of sugar again and that their beloved lemon cakes would disappear for the rest of their lives. 

What had truly endeared you to him though had been the gasp you let out at the news, the way your eyes had widened and you had acted so terribly frightened for them, the way you had aided his mission by telling them that it was too serious a threat to be ignored. And though the girls had giggled (for even at his most serious moments they never took him or his threats of punishment seriously) they had ultimately listened, if only to ease you of your overdramatic worry, promising you that they would go to ease your mind and to appease their father. He had grumbled a rough thanks once they were back in the arms of their maids, and you had simply laughed and smiled brightly, telling him that it was rather good fun for you. 

So it was this moment, seemingly small, that had sealed your fate in his heart. He had not forgotten it, and when it had finally come time for him to remarry, he could only think of you. The letter was written, the raven flown, and the rest was history. But you had prodded him even then (physically too, your finger digging into his ribs as he huffed and twitched with annoyance), asking him why he delayed the wedding so long, why the betrothal carried on if he was so sure of you. 

His answer rather broke your heart. He did not look at you as he said it, his arm tightening over your shoulder where he had been holding you close in bed, and his eyes had fallen almost closed. He told you that he had been giving you time. He said that he had wanted you to be sure as well, that he had believed that, if he delayed long enough, you might finally realise that you did not love him, or that you were far too good to be trapped into such a marriage, or that even if you did somehow manage to love him, that you would not want all the other weight that he came with. He had simply thought that if he gave you enough time, you would rescind your acceptance and fly your way out of his life, as he still sometimes thought you ought to have done. 

You had stared at him with a serious frown, sitting up and extricating yourself from his arm. You had leaned over him, cupping his cheek firmly and making sure that he was looking you right in the eye as you told him what utter nonsense that was. You loved him, most thoroughly, most ardently, and to even think that you would wish for any other life was to commit blasphemy. He had huffed a laugh at that, but the amused pinch of his lips had disappeared when you had stared at him with the utmost seriousness. 

He had kissed you then, a hand speedily placing itself at the back of your neck and yanking you down until your lips met his. He had devoured your mouth, kissing hurriedly, sticking his tongue into your mouth, moaning and groaning in such a way that your legs trembled at it. He had urged you onto him with his hands at your waist, pressing and supporting until you were straddling him, palms shoved under the pillow that he laid his head on, heels of your hands digging into the mattress to keep you upright. Neither of you bothered much at all, he had scrabbled his breeches down just enough to pull his cock out, gathered your shift onto your hips, and you had done the work from there. 

And so a marriage of love, of care and utter devotion, was born at Summerhall, left to flourish most beautifully. 

There was a knock at the door to his study, answered only by a grunt and the continual scratching of a quill on parchment as he attempted to answer a distant lord’s query on the Crown’s tax on grain. He did not enjoy such work, but every so often, the lot did end up falling to him, and he was happy to lift some of the burden from Baelor where he could. 

The door opened and you entered, the sounds of your sweeping skirts following you in, and he glanced up to see you smiling, a plate in hand as you made your way over to his desk with a small hum of greeting. You placed it down just in front of where he worked, within arm’s reach still, then rounded the desk to stand just beside him. 

“How does the work go, husband?” You asked him, draping one hand gently on his shoulder and using the other to touch his chin and gently tilt his head in your direction. He sighed, long and low, and slumped back into his chair, eyes fluttering shut as you scratched lightly at his beard and moved your hand upward to begin caressing his hair. 

“It remains unending,” he grumbled to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you closer to the side of the chair until he could lean his head against your stomach. Another sigh worked from him, more contented this time, and you slowly ran your fingers through his hair, cradling his head to you and simply humming in response. 

“You have been sequestered here a rather long while,” your voice was quiet, just above a whisper, and he only made an ‘mm’ sound in acknowledgement. “I know you have not eaten, for I have made sure to ask if anything has been brought to you other than ale or wine and the resounding answer has been that you would ‘think about such nonsense later’.” You raised an eyebrow, tilting your chin down to look at him, but he did not open his eyes or make any attempt to look up at your face, huffing once and nothing more. 

You only sighed after that, caressing his forehead, tracing the lines where his wrinkles deepened when he frowned (as he so often did). He allowed you to do this a while, your fingers stroking through his hair, over his cheeks and beard, until you bent down and carefully pressed kisses to his lips, soft little things so full of love that they made his chest warm and tight. When you finally pulled away, you were smiling once more and stood to your full height, placing the plate of roast and bread and stewed vegetables in front of him, luckily still steaming. 

“Eat please, before you worry me more,” you told him, nudging your head in the direction of the food before moving to stand behind his chair and placing your hands on his shoulders. You massaged him there, along the back of his neck too, and he moaned quietly (though you weren’t sure if it was because of your ministrations or because of the food he was now inhaling). 

He grunted once before he finally said, swallowing down a mouthful, “you need not care for me so closely you know. I have lived long enough by my own hand.” But you only scoffed, tugging on a strand of his hair in reprimand before bending and kissing the top of his head. 

“Perhaps I do not need to, but I wish to do so. It makes me happy, gives me purpose to care for you. Someone ought to. You deserve love and diligent care, same as the rest of us, my prince.” You said it so seriously too, as if it was irrefutable, a simple truth. He only grunted in response, continued pressing meat and bread into his mouth (because he truly had not realised how hungry he actually was) but that pulsing warmth in his chest became stronger, flowed out into the rest of his body, filling him up in a way he had not known he was capable of. 

Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, at the base of his neck, clinging him ever closer. He was draped over you, his weight pressed into you, nothing separating you. You could feel his coarse chest hair against your nipples, sparking through you as he pumped his hips back and forth, sending those sparks into you, through you, right up your core and into your mouth and mind. The slap of it, the force, not too hard but not soft, permanent, a feeling to last for a long while after the coupling ended. 

One arm was wrapped around your back, clutching you tight to him, as the other gripped your hip, steadied you against the mattress so he could continue his motions. He grunted into your neck, sounds from deep in his throat, animalistic, true testaments to the pleasure he took from you. He kissed and bit at your neck, down onto your chest and over the swells of your breasts. 

“Feels so good, my love,” you moaned, eyes shut, face turned up to the ceiling, voice breathy and uncontrolled. “You’re making me feel so good!” You panted, eyes screwing even tighter as the pleasure coiled, and you could almost feel his own face pinching with it. His grunts became interspersed with moans, his arm around you tightened, his hand following suit. 

The heat of it was everywhere, in your core between your thighs, in your stomach and chest, in the sweat on your skin and his breath against you. You felt alight with it. “Yes, Maekar, yes!” Your leg twitched, your core tightened, your entire body seemed to throb with it. “Please, my love, it feels so good,” you panted, “kiss me, please,” and he obliged, pushing up at the last minute as the pleasure hit, pressing his mouth to yours, moaning there, tongues intertwined. 

The two of you writhed against each other, riding the waves together until your bodies collapsed against the sheets with finality. He rested his weight over you, just as you loved him to do after such activities. You told him it was like having your own personal hearth laid over you, a soft yet muscular hearth at the perfect weight in temperature. And he enjoyed the closeness too, did not wish to leave your warmth either. 

You caressed the back of his head, dragging your nails over the back of his neck and the planes of his shoulders as your body settled, as you went weak all over and melted into the mattress. He simply breathed, heavy washes of it over your neck and chest. You hummed, just a sound for the sake of it, before you tilted your head just enough and pressed a kiss at his temple. 

“I did not see much of you today,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering closed though the warm oranges and yellows of the candlelight and fire still played over your eyelids. 

“Mm,” was his answer, “not a moment’s rest.” You hummed as well, kissing the side of his head again, running your fingers through his hair. He rumbled, almost purring like a cat, his entire body vibrating with it, and you continued what you were doing. 

“How was it then?” You asked, wanting his voice a little longer still, and he finally shifted in your grasp, lifting his head up just enough to smirk at you before dipping down to press a kiss to your breast, just above your nipple where it still sparked with pleasure. 

“Would have fared far better if I had only been allowed to rest like so, just here, in my favourite spot,” and then he lay his head down on your chest again, using your breast as a cushion to his cheek, mouthing gently at the skin, kissing just around your nipple in a way that made you shiver. You laughed breathily, shaking your head before settling even further into the pillows and sheets of your bed, kissing at his temple and forehead. 

“Mm, and I would not object to you staying right here if you so pleased. You keep me sufficiently warm during these cold nights.” You felt his smile against you, heard the barest huff of a chuckle before he gently bit at the nipple he had just kissed, rolling it lightly between his teeth as you twitched and made a noise of surprise, slapping at his back as he continued to laugh. 

“Do you love me?” He asked, and you felt your entire body pause, stiffen, visceral in its reaction. 

“What?” You breathed out, eyebrows gaining a furrow, hands trembling. 

“Do you love me?” He asked again, voice low, grumbling as always, but this felt more trembling than anything. A man who had only the barest control left on his emotions. A man so utterly overwhelmed, shaken from the inside, attempting to be vulnerable in the only way he knew how. 

“Has that ever been in doubt?” You asked quietly, lashes fluttering, the sudden burn of tears, the welling of them at your lashline. He did not say anything, looked away instead, a harsh swallow bobbing at his throat. He hummed, neither a yes or a no. Your lips trembled and you stepped forward quickly, reaching out for him in desperation. Your hands landed on his chest, smoothing out over his tunic before clenching into it, dragging yourself as close as possible, until the warmth of you both was intertwined. As it was meant to be. 

“If it has been in doubt, then it is entirely my own fault. And it is an injustice I have committed.” Your voice trembled. “For I love you so much that it rather terrifies me. I love you so much that even the thought of separation from you brings me to tears, brings a tremble to my hands and I must sit a long while or find your company to make the corrosive pain run from me. I love you so much that just the sight of your face can right all wrongs in my heart.” The words dribbled out of you so quickly now, hurried as if you were desperate for him to know the truth of the matter. “I love you so much that your pain is my pain, your love is my balm, your word my truth. I did not think it possible to love a person so, but here we are. I love you…” and your words trailed off as he pressed his mouth to yours. 

The kiss was salty with your tears, and though he did not cry, when he pulled back, his eyes were red limned and shined like glass. He kissed you like you were intertwined things, meant to be attached at the lips. His mouth was soft, wet, squished to yours, and you splayed both your hands along the sides of his neck, laced your fingers at the nape, pulled him in until his tongue too ventured past your lips and tasted all the love you carried. 

His arm curled around your waist, dragged you closer up against him, into the firmness of his chest and the warmth of his body, and you made a muffled sound into his mouth that he swallowed like wine. The tears on your cheeks smeared onto his, his other hand threaded into the hair at the back of your neck, cradled your skull and kept you that final bit closer. You wished to breathe him in entirely, and he wished the same of you. 

You did not know what had caused this reaction. You did not know what had caused him to ask, what rotten thing had appeared and nestled in his heart to make him feel so, but you knew that you would do everything in your power and then some, would do what must be done, whatever that may be, to make sure that he finally felt all the love that he deserved to feel. 

For Maekar was no one’s shadow, not a spare nor an afterthought, nor any other cruel name the court gave him for the crime of being born fourth. He was yours, and you were his, and that was what mattered most of all.

Taglist: @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff,  @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist 

[thirstingseason]

Lord Ashford Fucks His Sheep (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Request 

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long with this. I just felt a bit stumped with writing it because I think I was too focused on it being funny that I just kept putting off writing it because I felt I couldn’t do it justice. But anyway, I finally said fuck it, and here we are. I hope you enjoy it! 

NOTE: this is a perfectly happy world where the trial never happens, Dunk wins the tourney and becomes Egg’s knight, and everything goes happily ever after. Why? Because I need this. 

Summary: The only person who can truly make Maekar laugh is his beloved. And she loves to employ her talents as often as possible! 

Word count:  ~2k

Trigger Warnings: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), just some fun and fluff, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

“Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” You hurriedly pressed a hand to your mouth, hoping your rather undignified snort did not echo too loudly in the raucous aftermath. You felt Maekar’s hand on your thigh tighten, glanced over to find him smirking, looking over at you from the corner of his eye with the corners of his lips upturned and his eyes sparkling with mirth. 

You could see Baelor glance disapprovingly in your two’s direction, but despite his best efforts to remain respectful to your host, you could see the shine of humour on his face as well. You were beaming now, uninterested in hiding your amusement. Though you knew Maekar enjoyed a good tourney, jousts and all, you had no interest in the violence. There were far better things to be doing than flinging lances at each other, you thought, but you must endure. 

You gently traced your fingertips up and down the back of his hand, over his knuckles and veins, over the smooth skin and flecked scars. You sighed, sounding rather forlorn, before the idea hit you like a spark. You bit your lip, hiding a smirk, then leaned over to your husband’s chair. He tilted his head just so, ensuring you knew his ear was always open for you. Restraining yourself from kissing the beard at his cheek (like you usually loved to do), you instead whispered, “I wonder then if the horses and cows are safe from his attentions.” 

You watched his throat bob with a swallow, his lips twitching and chest going stiff as he held his breath. You knew he was attempting to ward off a laugh, you could see it written all over his face in the newly renewed seriousness he attempted to portray. But his eyes always betrayed him, so expressive, even now, so obviously shining with humour. 

“I suppose I understand the sheep,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “he does look rather similar to them, you know. Like calls to like and all,” you added, an air of disinterest in your manner, as if what you were saying was mere parlour talk. Maekar’s hand tightened on your thigh and you saw the sudden movement of his shoulders. “Do you think he prefers a certain type of sheep? A particular breed or just any sheep will do?” 

Maekar turned his head to the side, attempting to hide his face against his own shoulder. You could see how harshly he clenched his jaw, how hard he was trying not to let his face split fully into a grin. His eyes screwed shut, his face pinched in his attempt, and you beamed brightly, pressing your hand to your mouth to stifle your own giggles. 

Just the sight of him so overcome with laughter filled you with infinite joy. You had often told your dear husband that he did not smile enough, that you worried that he did not find enough joy around him, but he always assured you he was alright, that though he may not be the jolliest man in Westeros, he found enough amusement between you and his children (when they were being good anyway). But even with this, it was nice to have some real assurance. 

“Enough with your jests, woman,” he finally broke out, though his voice was a tad out of breath and far too high pitched to be serious. “You will send me to an early grave,” he grumbled. But then he pressed a quick kiss against your cheek, so speedy and so fleeting that no one else would have noticed, over in the blink of an eye, and you could only look up at him with shock and awe. Your Maekar, laving you with affection in front of so many eyes? It was simply unheard of. 

You quickly threaded your fingers through his, holding his hand in your lap as your body filled with an indescribable warmth, and when you glanced back at him, happy and unable to resist looking at the man that caused you such joy, you noticed that he was offering you a small smile in return. 

You hummed softly along to the lute, chewing on the bit of cake the feast was boasting as its dessert. Your eyes traced over the great hall, the many voices echoing up to the ceiling, the heads moving as they ate or drank or spoke or did any number of things. You took a sip from your cup of wine, humming at the lovely sweetness of it as well, a perfect compliment to the cake, and then felt Maekar’s fingers brush lightly along the top of your hand that rested against the table. You turned your head to him, smiling sweetly, and shifted just slightly in your seat to be that much closer to him. Though the arms of your chair remained the distance between you, your shoulder brushed his arm where the two of you seemed to converge on the space. 

“Lord Manderley’s doublet is a punishment to the eyes,” he grumbled by your ear, sipping casually from his wine. “I fear by wearing such a thing he has given grounds for Baelor to have him arrested and sentenced to death.” 

You snorted a laugh, shaking your head and dropping it against his arm for a moment before lifting it up and looking around the hall to see if you could spot him. Maekar gave the barest nudge of his chin in the lord’s direction and you caught sight of the ghastly thing instantly. 

“Goodness,” you gasped, eyes widening a little. “I did not think such a shade of… is that green? Or rather yellow? Perhaps somewhere in between?” Your brows furrowed in puzzlement and you squinted at the man in the distance. 

“I distinctly remember something of that colour coming out of Aegon’s mouth when he was but a babe,” Maekar mumbled, and you fell into hysterics, slapping a hand over your mouth and pressing your face to his arm to hide yourself. Your entire body shook with your laughter as you clung to him, and he looked positively pompous, smirking (slightly but proudly) that he was able to tickle your humour so. Perhaps he would not openly admit it, but he took immense pride in being able to make you laugh, to know he could be your source of joy. 

When you finally caught your breath a little, you lifted your head up and said, “I thought something of that colour would come out of the other end of a person.” You raised your eyebrows, glancing down as if to emphasize, and Maekar snorted, a loud and outrageous sound for him. 

Baelor, Valarr, even King Daeron, all turned to look down the table towards the two of you, eyebrows raising and mouths turning up at the corners as they saw the laughter on your face and the precarious hold Maekar attempted to keep on his subdued expression. But his enjoyment was obvious, and all their hearts warmed with it. 

You leaned your face against Maekar’s arm once more, cheeks warm and almost pained from how much you smiled. You traced the back of his hand once more but traversed all the way up to his forearm this time. 

“Do not make me laugh so,” Maekar grumbled down to you, and though his words sounded very serious, you could hear the hidden teasing beneath them. “I cannot have these Lords thinking that I might ever be amused in their company.” But you just giggled and pressed a fleeting kiss to his arm. 

“Maekar, you would not believe the way she said it!” You exclaimed, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you turned to look back at him from your seat at the vanity. 

Your husband had already clambered into bed, not one for too much ceremony before sleep. He kept only the barest pajama trousers on and that was that, and now he lay sprawled on his side, sunk down into the pillows as he watched you. 

“How did she say it, wife?” He asked in return, eyes fluttering a little as the tiredness of the day began to seep into his bones. 

“Like this,” and then you cleared your throat, lifted your chin, put on the highest pitch of voice you could and gave it a shrill quality too, and continued, “‘well my dearie! If you want to keep that husband of yours then you must do one of two things! Either bend over or bend him over!’” 

Maekar’s eyes widened a little in shock before his chest shook as an unexpected laugh punched out of him. You looked at him with your own expression of shock and amusement, nodding quickly as you waved your hands about. 

“I know! I was as shocked as you are! I could not believe she said such a thing, during an embroidery circle no less! Who knew a woman of that age would have such things to say!” You shook your head, still laughing breathily as you applied scent to your neck before getting up and making for the bed. 

But Maekar was still laughing, loudly and uproariously, and you felt immensely triumphant as you watched him wipe at the corners of his eyes, shaking his head but unable to control his laughter.

“And, well, having met her husband, I suppose I can say that he rather should bend over for her. She is a force of a woman, you know,” you continued, but then paused to watch Maekar with twinkling eyes once more. He had gone fully red in the face, the flush spreading down to his chest and stomach, colouring him pink. 

You leant over and lightly pecked at his chest, at the warm skin there that shook with his uncontrollable laughter. He attempted to catch his breath but any time he looked at you, you put on the same sour expression the lady you spoke of had, and he fell into that deep laughter once more. 

“You truly will be the death of me,” he finally wheezed out, reaching out and cupping your cheek lightly, his eyes still wet from his laughter. “I have not known anyone to make me laugh as you do.” You beamed at that, running your fingers over his beard, snuggling down into the bed so you could press a proper kiss to his mouth. 

The guards outside Prince Maekar’s chambers, and the maids and servant boys who passed by there at such hours of the night, always stopped to stare at the door in awe. The prince and his wife had retired by this time, though candlelight still flickered just at the edges of the shadows under the door. But it was not this that gave them pause. No, it was the deep guffawing laughter that seemed to echo from within. 

They had always known the new princess to be easy to laughter. You were always ready to giggle or chuckle or bowl over in laughter at whatever new humorous thing was brought to you, but the opposite was true of the Prince. The servants could count on one hand how many times they had seen the Prince smile, let alone laugh, and one of those had been when he had gotten rather drunk with his elder brother one fateful evening. 

But since the wedding and the fixed presence of the new Lady of Summerhall, this had become a common occurrence. In the evenings you would retire together, and once the maids had been dismissed and a little time had passed, anyone passing by could hear that peculiar mixture of sounds, one higher-pitched giggle, and one deep laugh, mingling, pausing between words, renewing. 

The maids and messengerboys oft wondered if you had practiced some magic on their lord. Perhaps you had cast a spell or made a particularly strong prayer. Whatever it may be, they could not deny that they too took immense enjoyment from finally seeing their lord… happy. And if keeping this development a secret was their duty, then so be it. :)

[eowyns-fantasy]

oh this was so sweet 🥺❤️ Maekar deserves all the happiness and laughter

[thirstingseason]

awww thank you so much! And frrr, I would give anything just to see him properly smile even once in that show 😭

[thirstingseason]

Lord Ashford Fucks His Sheep (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Request 

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long with this. I just felt a bit stumped with writing it because I think I was too focused on it being funny that I just kept putting off writing it because I felt I couldn’t do it justice. But anyway, I finally said fuck it, and here we are. I hope you enjoy it! 

NOTE: this is a perfectly happy world where the trial never happens, Dunk wins the tourney and becomes Egg’s knight, and everything goes happily ever after. Why? Because I need this. 

Summary: The only person who can truly make Maekar laugh is his beloved. And she loves to employ her talents as often as possible! 

Word count:  ~2k

Trigger Warnings: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), just some fun and fluff, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

“Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” You hurriedly pressed a hand to your mouth, hoping your rather undignified snort did not echo too loudly in the raucous aftermath. You felt Maekar’s hand on your thigh tighten, glanced over to find him smirking, looking over at you from the corner of his eye with the corners of his lips upturned and his eyes sparkling with mirth. 

You could see Baelor glance disapprovingly in your two’s direction, but despite his best efforts to remain respectful to your host, you could see the shine of humour on his face as well. You were beaming now, uninterested in hiding your amusement. Though you knew Maekar enjoyed a good tourney, jousts and all, you had no interest in the violence. There were far better things to be doing than flinging lances at each other, you thought, but you must endure. 

You gently traced your fingertips up and down the back of his hand, over his knuckles and veins, over the smooth skin and flecked scars. You sighed, sounding rather forlorn, before the idea hit you like a spark. You bit your lip, hiding a smirk, then leaned over to your husband’s chair. He tilted his head just so, ensuring you knew his ear was always open for you. Restraining yourself from kissing the beard at his cheek (like you usually loved to do), you instead whispered, “I wonder then if the horses and cows are safe from his attentions.” 

You watched his throat bob with a swallow, his lips twitching and chest going stiff as he held his breath. You knew he was attempting to ward off a laugh, you could see it written all over his face in the newly renewed seriousness he attempted to portray. But his eyes always betrayed him, so expressive, even now, so obviously shining with humour. 

“I suppose I understand the sheep,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “he does look rather similar to them, you know. Like calls to like and all,” you added, an air of disinterest in your manner, as if what you were saying was mere parlour talk. Maekar’s hand tightened on your thigh and you saw the sudden movement of his shoulders. “Do you think he prefers a certain type of sheep? A particular breed or just any sheep will do?” 

Maekar turned his head to the side, attempting to hide his face against his own shoulder. You could see how harshly he clenched his jaw, how hard he was trying not to let his face split fully into a grin. His eyes screwed shut, his face pinched in his attempt, and you beamed brightly, pressing your hand to your mouth to stifle your own giggles. 

Just the sight of him so overcome with laughter filled you with infinite joy. You had often told your dear husband that he did not smile enough, that you worried that he did not find enough joy around him, but he always assured you he was alright, that though he may not be the jolliest man in Westeros, he found enough amusement between you and his children (when they were being good anyway). But even with this, it was nice to have some real assurance. 

“Enough with your jests, woman,” he finally broke out, though his voice was a tad out of breath and far too high pitched to be serious. “You will send me to an early grave,” he grumbled. But then he pressed a quick kiss against your cheek, so speedy and so fleeting that no one else would have noticed, over in the blink of an eye, and you could only look up at him with shock and awe. Your Maekar, laving you with affection in front of so many eyes? It was simply unheard of. 

You quickly threaded your fingers through his, holding his hand in your lap as your body filled with an indescribable warmth, and when you glanced back at him, happy and unable to resist looking at the man that caused you such joy, you noticed that he was offering you a small smile in return. 

You hummed softly along to the lute, chewing on the bit of cake the feast was boasting as its dessert. Your eyes traced over the great hall, the many voices echoing up to the ceiling, the heads moving as they ate or drank or spoke or did any number of things. You took a sip from your cup of wine, humming at the lovely sweetness of it as well, a perfect compliment to the cake, and then felt Maekar’s fingers brush lightly along the top of your hand that rested against the table. You turned your head to him, smiling sweetly, and shifted just slightly in your seat to be that much closer to him. Though the arms of your chair remained the distance between you, your shoulder brushed his arm where the two of you seemed to converge on the space. 

“Lord Manderley’s doublet is a punishment to the eyes,” he grumbled by your ear, sipping casually from his wine. “I fear by wearing such a thing he has given grounds for Baelor to have him arrested and sentenced to death.” 

You snorted a laugh, shaking your head and dropping it against his arm for a moment before lifting it up and looking around the hall to see if you could spot him. Maekar gave the barest nudge of his chin in the lord’s direction and you caught sight of the ghastly thing instantly. 

“Goodness,” you gasped, eyes widening a little. “I did not think such a shade of… is that green? Or rather yellow? Perhaps somewhere in between?” Your brows furrowed in puzzlement and you squinted at the man in the distance. 

“I distinctly remember something of that colour coming out of Aegon’s mouth when he was but a babe,” Maekar mumbled, and you fell into hysterics, slapping a hand over your mouth and pressing your face to his arm to hide yourself. Your entire body shook with your laughter as you clung to him, and he looked positively pompous, smirking (slightly but proudly) that he was able to tickle your humour so. Perhaps he would not openly admit it, but he took immense pride in being able to make you laugh, to know he could be your source of joy. 

When you finally caught your breath a little, you lifted your head up and said, “I thought something of that colour would come out of the other end of a person.” You raised your eyebrows, glancing down as if to emphasize, and Maekar snorted, a loud and outrageous sound for him. 

Baelor, Valarr, even King Daeron, all turned to look down the table towards the two of you, eyebrows raising and mouths turning up at the corners as they saw the laughter on your face and the precarious hold Maekar attempted to keep on his subdued expression. But his enjoyment was obvious, and all their hearts warmed with it. 

You leaned your face against Maekar’s arm once more, cheeks warm and almost pained from how much you smiled. You traced the back of his hand once more but traversed all the way up to his forearm this time. 

“Do not make me laugh so,” Maekar grumbled down to you, and though his words sounded very serious, you could hear the hidden teasing beneath them. “I cannot have these Lords thinking that I might ever be amused in their company.” But you just giggled and pressed a fleeting kiss to his arm. 

“Maekar, you would not believe the way she said it!” You exclaimed, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you turned to look back at him from your seat at the vanity. 

Your husband had already clambered into bed, not one for too much ceremony before sleep. He kept only the barest pajama trousers on and that was that, and now he lay sprawled on his side, sunk down into the pillows as he watched you. 

“How did she say it, wife?” He asked in return, eyes fluttering a little as the tiredness of the day began to seep into his bones. 

“Like this,” and then you cleared your throat, lifted your chin, put on the highest pitch of voice you could and gave it a shrill quality too, and continued, “‘well my dearie! If you want to keep that husband of yours then you must do one of two things! Either bend over or bend him over!’” 

Maekar’s eyes widened a little in shock before his chest shook as an unexpected laugh punched out of him. You looked at him with your own expression of shock and amusement, nodding quickly as you waved your hands about. 

“I know! I was as shocked as you are! I could not believe she said such a thing, during an embroidery circle no less! Who knew a woman of that age would have such things to say!” You shook your head, still laughing breathily as you applied scent to your neck before getting up and making for the bed. 

But Maekar was still laughing, loudly and uproariously, and you felt immensely triumphant as you watched him wipe at the corners of his eyes, shaking his head but unable to control his laughter.

“And, well, having met her husband, I suppose I can say that he rather should bend over for her. She is a force of a woman, you know,” you continued, but then paused to watch Maekar with twinkling eyes once more. He had gone fully red in the face, the flush spreading down to his chest and stomach, colouring him pink. 

You leant over and lightly pecked at his chest, at the warm skin there that shook with his uncontrollable laughter. He attempted to catch his breath but any time he looked at you, you put on the same sour expression the lady you spoke of had, and he fell into that deep laughter once more. 

“You truly will be the death of me,” he finally wheezed out, reaching out and cupping your cheek lightly, his eyes still wet from his laughter. “I have not known anyone to make me laugh as you do.” You beamed at that, running your fingers over his beard, snuggling down into the bed so you could press a proper kiss to his mouth. 

The guards outside Prince Maekar’s chambers, and the maids and servant boys who passed by there at such hours of the night, always stopped to stare at the door in awe. The prince and his wife had retired by this time, though candlelight still flickered just at the edges of the shadows under the door. But it was not this that gave them pause. No, it was the deep guffawing laughter that seemed to echo from within. 

They had always known the new princess to be easy to laughter. You were always ready to giggle or chuckle or bowl over in laughter at whatever new humorous thing was brought to you, but the opposite was true of the Prince. The servants could count on one hand how many times they had seen the Prince smile, let alone laugh, and one of those had been when he had gotten rather drunk with his elder brother one fateful evening. 

But since the wedding and the fixed presence of the new Lady of Summerhall, this had become a common occurrence. In the evenings you would retire together, and once the maids had been dismissed and a little time had passed, anyone passing by could hear that peculiar mixture of sounds, one higher-pitched giggle, and one deep laugh, mingling, pausing between words, renewing. 

The maids and messengerboys oft wondered if you had practiced some magic on their lord. Perhaps you had cast a spell or made a particularly strong prayer. Whatever it may be, they could not deny that they too took immense enjoyment from finally seeing their lord… happy. And if keeping this development a secret was their duty, then so be it. :)

[ghostlybfgf]

STOPPPP.. he deserves this so much. Seeing Maekar’s two seconds of happiness needed to be extended and you delivered as always babe!! In love with this 🥹💗

[thirstingseason]

🥹 thank you so much queen!!! And fr, he deserves this and more. That poor man is just always going through it 😭

[thirstingseason]

Are you switching blogs? If so, why?

hiiii! I am not completely switching, but I am slowly moving my writing onto this new blog! I'll still occasionally post writing on @/idksmtms because almost all my asks are on there right now, but once those asks have been finished, I will try to solely post my writing on this account (@/thirstingseason). After that, I will still use idksmtms for reblogs and comments and make it my reading and recommending blog, but my writing will all go on this one!

I did this because of all the technical difficulties I was facing and the people who read my fics were facing with it. My blog was labelled as mature which means for a lot of people in different countries they can only access it after verifying their age with their IDs and I know lots of people don't wish to do that because it feels very invasive (which is sooo fair, don't even get me started!). But I still wanted my fics to have a farther reach so I started this new blog!

(It was also just really fun to play around with a new aesthetic and create my new profile hehehe)

[idksmtms]

I love you're DIL series those two are chaotic 😂

I have been watching Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte often looks at her jewerly that is displayed.

So i was thinking about those DIL's brining out all off they're jewelry out in one of the're rooms (the're together going through them) and coming up with conclusion it's all out of fashion as some of them "old" so naturally they storm over to Baelor and Maekar to complain and B&M shut down they're demands as they already have too much jewelry, so they make a plan and then for the next couople of days they go around Red Keep and complain about how ghastly they're jewelry is and nobody is providing them with anything better and how they're princesses and they deserve better, so B&M to finnally stop them form complaining get them chests with new jewerly 😂😂

But then they go off about how the chests are "too small" with B&M rolling they're eyes at them😂

Aaaa thank you so much! And ikkk, I love my chaotic gals! They are exactly as they should be!

And this is such a hilarious idea! I def see this being a thing that DIL!M does. My girl is sooo spoilt and she loves to annoy the shit out of Maekar. I think the way I set up DIL!B, she isn't as spoilt in this way with Baelor, but I def think she can be egged on by DIL!M into doing this.

I imagine it as them being really bored one day, and this is genuinely the only thing they can come up with to waste their time on. Both Maekar and Baelor are busy in proper council meetings so they can't really barge in on them and annoy them like they usually do, so they really have to find a way to entertain themselves, and this is it.

DIL!M has all her jewellery laid out in her room, across the bed and on her vanity and all the little tables they can move around, and they go through each piece, sharing with each other, trading, commenting on how this one would go lovely with the lilac dress, or this one is rather old-fashioned but Father got it for her nameday so she would never part with it, or - after a long sigh - how there just isn't enough in here.

DIL!B would probably just sort of laugh and be like "okkkkk dear, sure," but now that DIL!M has it stuck in her head that she needs more jewels, she will have more jewels.

As soon as Maekar is out of his meeting, she's going to find him, laying herself dramatically over the chaise in his office, then sitting beside his chair with a long sigh, then finally draping herself intrusively along his lap until he growls and huffs "what?! what is it that you want but clearly are not expressing?"

And then she pouts and is like "I was just going through my jewellery collection today because I was so bored without you Father" (obviously trying to butter him up) "and I realised that many of my pieces are so out of fashion that perhaps even your grandmother would not wear them! And of course the only logical solution is to get me some more!"

He raises an eyebrow, wondering if you thought he was truly that stupid or easily swayed, and he sarcastically grumbles, "of course, the only logical solution." But you choose to ignore the tone and beam at him and say, "well of course!"

"No. You have more than enough as it is, you are spoilt enough as it is. If you need new pieces, borrow some off Valarr's wife."

But of course that is not at all the answer DIL!M wanted so she huffs and storms off, stewing in her anger. Then, she goes for a stroll, and any time there is a servant around or someone she knows would go and see Maekar about this or start up some gossip that would force him to listen to her, she would say "oh it is a pity, *siiiiiigh*, it is such a pity." And when they would ask, "what is such a pity, princess?", she would say, "'tis only that Father will not care for me. I am left to rot in old fashions, expected to dress as a woman of the past, and I am too powerless to stop it. Oh woe," she would sigh, fake tears shining in her eyes.

And everyone knows she's being dramatic, everyone knows that this is such an over-exaggeration but they still do what she wants and go to Maekar and tell him what she's saying. He of course fills with rage at this and storms out to find her. He also of course finds her laying on a chaise, sipping cold pomegranate juice, pouting and sighing and being all woe is me still, and he berates her.

He tells her to stop this nonsense, that people will think he treats her like some common servant when she is truly more cared for and bedecked in jewels than even the King himself. She pouts at this, about to open her mouth to make some insanely annoying remark about how she looks like a common servant now, but before she can, he drops a case just in front of her on the seat and she can hear jewels jingling inside it and instantly she's beaming and standing to press kisses to his cheeks and lips until he's pushing her off and telling her to end the nonsense.

Then he turns, swiftly leaving, but just as he gets to the door, he hears a quiet mumble from behind him, "hm, a rather small case, is it not?" and he literally feels his blood pressure rise sky high.

Bless these girls, and I hope someone in Westeros invests blood pressure medication ASAP because Maekar is going to an early grave due to stress-related illness at this point!

[thirstingseason]

another one for the DIL!reader verse!

[thirstingseason]

Lord Ashford Fucks His Sheep (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Request 

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long with this. I just felt a bit stumped with writing it because I think I was too focused on it being funny that I just kept putting off writing it because I felt I couldn’t do it justice. But anyway, I finally said fuck it, and here we are. I hope you enjoy it! 

NOTE: this is a perfectly happy world where the trial never happens, Dunk wins the tourney and becomes Egg’s knight, and everything goes happily ever after. Why? Because I need this. 

Summary: The only person who can truly make Maekar laugh is his beloved. And she loves to employ her talents as often as possible! 

Word count:  ~2k

Trigger Warnings: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), just some fun and fluff, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

“Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” You hurriedly pressed a hand to your mouth, hoping your rather undignified snort did not echo too loudly in the raucous aftermath. You felt Maekar’s hand on your thigh tighten, glanced over to find him smirking, looking over at you from the corner of his eye with the corners of his lips upturned and his eyes sparkling with mirth. 

You could see Baelor glance disapprovingly in your two’s direction, but despite his best efforts to remain respectful to your host, you could see the shine of humour on his face as well. You were beaming now, uninterested in hiding your amusement. Though you knew Maekar enjoyed a good tourney, jousts and all, you had no interest in the violence. There were far better things to be doing than flinging lances at each other, you thought, but you must endure. 

You gently traced your fingertips up and down the back of his hand, over his knuckles and veins, over the smooth skin and flecked scars. You sighed, sounding rather forlorn, before the idea hit you like a spark. You bit your lip, hiding a smirk, then leaned over to your husband’s chair. He tilted his head just so, ensuring you knew his ear was always open for you. Restraining yourself from kissing the beard at his cheek (like you usually loved to do), you instead whispered, “I wonder then if the horses and cows are safe from his attentions.” 

You watched his throat bob with a swallow, his lips twitching and chest going stiff as he held his breath. You knew he was attempting to ward off a laugh, you could see it written all over his face in the newly renewed seriousness he attempted to portray. But his eyes always betrayed him, so expressive, even now, so obviously shining with humour. 

“I suppose I understand the sheep,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “he does look rather similar to them, you know. Like calls to like and all,” you added, an air of disinterest in your manner, as if what you were saying was mere parlour talk. Maekar’s hand tightened on your thigh and you saw the sudden movement of his shoulders. “Do you think he prefers a certain type of sheep? A particular breed or just any sheep will do?” 

Maekar turned his head to the side, attempting to hide his face against his own shoulder. You could see how harshly he clenched his jaw, how hard he was trying not to let his face split fully into a grin. His eyes screwed shut, his face pinched in his attempt, and you beamed brightly, pressing your hand to your mouth to stifle your own giggles. 

Just the sight of him so overcome with laughter filled you with infinite joy. You had often told your dear husband that he did not smile enough, that you worried that he did not find enough joy around him, but he always assured you he was alright, that though he may not be the jolliest man in Westeros, he found enough amusement between you and his children (when they were being good anyway). But even with this, it was nice to have some real assurance. 

“Enough with your jests, woman,” he finally broke out, though his voice was a tad out of breath and far too high pitched to be serious. “You will send me to an early grave,” he grumbled. But then he pressed a quick kiss against your cheek, so speedy and so fleeting that no one else would have noticed, over in the blink of an eye, and you could only look up at him with shock and awe. Your Maekar, laving you with affection in front of so many eyes? It was simply unheard of. 

You quickly threaded your fingers through his, holding his hand in your lap as your body filled with an indescribable warmth, and when you glanced back at him, happy and unable to resist looking at the man that caused you such joy, you noticed that he was offering you a small smile in return. 

You hummed softly along to the lute, chewing on the bit of cake the feast was boasting as its dessert. Your eyes traced over the great hall, the many voices echoing up to the ceiling, the heads moving as they ate or drank or spoke or did any number of things. You took a sip from your cup of wine, humming at the lovely sweetness of it as well, a perfect compliment to the cake, and then felt Maekar’s fingers brush lightly along the top of your hand that rested against the table. You turned your head to him, smiling sweetly, and shifted just slightly in your seat to be that much closer to him. Though the arms of your chair remained the distance between you, your shoulder brushed his arm where the two of you seemed to converge on the space. 

“Lord Manderley’s doublet is a punishment to the eyes,” he grumbled by your ear, sipping casually from his wine. “I fear by wearing such a thing he has given grounds for Baelor to have him arrested and sentenced to death.” 

You snorted a laugh, shaking your head and dropping it against his arm for a moment before lifting it up and looking around the hall to see if you could spot him. Maekar gave the barest nudge of his chin in the lord’s direction and you caught sight of the ghastly thing instantly. 

“Goodness,” you gasped, eyes widening a little. “I did not think such a shade of… is that green? Or rather yellow? Perhaps somewhere in between?” Your brows furrowed in puzzlement and you squinted at the man in the distance. 

“I distinctly remember something of that colour coming out of Aegon’s mouth when he was but a babe,” Maekar mumbled, and you fell into hysterics, slapping a hand over your mouth and pressing your face to his arm to hide yourself. Your entire body shook with your laughter as you clung to him, and he looked positively pompous, smirking (slightly but proudly) that he was able to tickle your humour so. Perhaps he would not openly admit it, but he took immense pride in being able to make you laugh, to know he could be your source of joy. 

When you finally caught your breath a little, you lifted your head up and said, “I thought something of that colour would come out of the other end of a person.” You raised your eyebrows, glancing down as if to emphasize, and Maekar snorted, a loud and outrageous sound for him. 

Baelor, Valarr, even King Daeron, all turned to look down the table towards the two of you, eyebrows raising and mouths turning up at the corners as they saw the laughter on your face and the precarious hold Maekar attempted to keep on his subdued expression. But his enjoyment was obvious, and all their hearts warmed with it. 

You leaned your face against Maekar’s arm once more, cheeks warm and almost pained from how much you smiled. You traced the back of his hand once more but traversed all the way up to his forearm this time. 

“Do not make me laugh so,” Maekar grumbled down to you, and though his words sounded very serious, you could hear the hidden teasing beneath them. “I cannot have these Lords thinking that I might ever be amused in their company.” But you just giggled and pressed a fleeting kiss to his arm. 

“Maekar, you would not believe the way she said it!” You exclaimed, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you turned to look back at him from your seat at the vanity. 

Your husband had already clambered into bed, not one for too much ceremony before sleep. He kept only the barest pajama trousers on and that was that, and now he lay sprawled on his side, sunk down into the pillows as he watched you. 

“How did she say it, wife?” He asked in return, eyes fluttering a little as the tiredness of the day began to seep into his bones. 

“Like this,” and then you cleared your throat, lifted your chin, put on the highest pitch of voice you could and gave it a shrill quality too, and continued, “‘well my dearie! If you want to keep that husband of yours then you must do one of two things! Either bend over or bend him over!’” 

Maekar’s eyes widened a little in shock before his chest shook as an unexpected laugh punched out of him. You looked at him with your own expression of shock and amusement, nodding quickly as you waved your hands about. 

“I know! I was as shocked as you are! I could not believe she said such a thing, during an embroidery circle no less! Who knew a woman of that age would have such things to say!” You shook your head, still laughing breathily as you applied scent to your neck before getting up and making for the bed. 

But Maekar was still laughing, loudly and uproariously, and you felt immensely triumphant as you watched him wipe at the corners of his eyes, shaking his head but unable to control his laughter.

“And, well, having met her husband, I suppose I can say that he rather should bend over for her. She is a force of a woman, you know,” you continued, but then paused to watch Maekar with twinkling eyes once more. He had gone fully red in the face, the flush spreading down to his chest and stomach, colouring him pink. 

You leant over and lightly pecked at his chest, at the warm skin there that shook with his uncontrollable laughter. He attempted to catch his breath but any time he looked at you, you put on the same sour expression the lady you spoke of had, and he fell into that deep laughter once more. 

“You truly will be the death of me,” he finally wheezed out, reaching out and cupping your cheek lightly, his eyes still wet from his laughter. “I have not known anyone to make me laugh as you do.” You beamed at that, running your fingers over his beard, snuggling down into the bed so you could press a proper kiss to his mouth. 

The guards outside Prince Maekar’s chambers, and the maids and servant boys who passed by there at such hours of the night, always stopped to stare at the door in awe. The prince and his wife had retired by this time, though candlelight still flickered just at the edges of the shadows under the door. But it was not this that gave them pause. No, it was the deep guffawing laughter that seemed to echo from within. 

They had always known the new princess to be easy to laughter. You were always ready to giggle or chuckle or bowl over in laughter at whatever new humorous thing was brought to you, but the opposite was true of the Prince. The servants could count on one hand how many times they had seen the Prince smile, let alone laugh, and one of those had been when he had gotten rather drunk with his elder brother one fateful evening. 

But since the wedding and the fixed presence of the new Lady of Summerhall, this had become a common occurrence. In the evenings you would retire together, and once the maids had been dismissed and a little time had passed, anyone passing by could hear that peculiar mixture of sounds, one higher-pitched giggle, and one deep laugh, mingling, pausing between words, renewing. 

The maids and messengerboys oft wondered if you had practiced some magic on their lord. Perhaps you had cast a spell or made a particularly strong prayer. Whatever it may be, they could not deny that they too took immense enjoyment from finally seeing their lord… happy. And if keeping this development a secret was their duty, then so be it. :)

Taglist: (I'm so sorry, I forgot to add this when I posted!) @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist 

[thirstingseason]

A (Horse)Ride (Baelor Targaryen x Wife!reader)

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. Just... yeah. I wasn’t really sure about full on sex on the horse but they still get down and dirty, don’t worry 

Summary: Baelor takes you for a ride. On a horse. And then… 

Word count: 2.1k 

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), SMUT: fingering, dirty talk, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)

“I promise to keep you safe, my love,” Baelor placated kindly, cupping your cheek and pulling you in close to press a soft kiss to your forehead. You preened at the attention, smiling at the coarseness of his beard against your skin, and you reached out to splay your hands over his sides, holding him close and taking deep breaths of his wonderfully spicy scent.

“It is not you keeping me safe that I worry about,” you replied in a mumble, nuzzling your nose against his chest before pulling back and glancing at the pretty steed standing calmly a few paces away, saddled and ready. “But rather my own clumsiness and the unknown actions of the creature that worry me.” 

Baelor huffed a chuckle at that, shaking his head just slightly before pressing another kiss to the top of your head and pulling away, leading you to the horse and calmly petting at the mare’s face and neck, cooing to her. You felt almost jealous. He petted and spoke to you that way. But you refrained from making a comment for you feared how teasing he might be at your jealousy over a horse… 

“She is calm and gentle,” he cooed, petting over her neck one more time before patting the saddle and looking back at you. “She will do well for your first horseback ride, do not fret. And I will be with you every step of the way, that I promise you.” 

You finally nodded, walking over and gently offering your flat palm to the horse. She stamped her hooves a little, but then settled once more, bending her head to snuffle at your palm. You giggled softly at the ticklish feeling, whispering to her that she was a good girl before passing your hand over her silky mane and neck. Baelor allowed you a few moments of this, watching you carefully grow your bond and trust with the horse before nudging his head toward her saddle once more. “Alright,” you sighed, “alright, alright,” nodding before stepping up and waiting for him to guide you. 

“I shall do the heavy lifting for today,” he said simply, before grasping you by the waist and hoisting you up into the air. You clenched your mouth tight to stifle your squeal, hurriedly grasping onto the saddle before you went toppling over the other side. He chuckled, pressing one of your legs to the side before telling you to swing the other around carefully. He held you at the waist as well, watching with keen eyes as you did what he said. You clung tight to the saddle, heart pounding, feeling too far off the ground. 

“Well sat,” he praised, patting your thigh once before telling you to scooch forward. He made sure your feet were far forward from the stirrups before he hooked his foot in and hoisted himself quickly onto the horse behind you. You gasped again as the mare naturally shifted forward a little, but Baelor was already well situated behind you, his cloak gathered properly just behind him. 

Your eyes fluttered a little as you leaned back into him, shivering at the pleasured hum he let out. You could feel it, could feel him, right against you, all around you it seemed. He was warm, as he always was, but it felt the way it did when he engulfed you in bed. Yes, that was the right word, engulf. You were engulfed in him. His arms had come around you to hold onto the reins, caging you in with all the muscle. You felt you did not pay enough attention to the muscle of his arms. Firm from wrist to elbow, veined, swathes of tan skin, fine black hairs, so perfect to hold you, to lift you, to just wrap around you. 

Baelor clicked his tongue and gently nudged the horse forward, his hips naturally shifting against your behind, and you gripped the edge of the saddle a little tighter. His scent, whatever spicy mix from Dorne that he still favoured, seemed to stick to your mouth, nose, and tongue, inescapable in a pleasurable way. You would not want to be anywhere else. 

You could feel his stomach and chest against your back, pushing and pulling with every breath and the natural roll of his body from years of practiced horseriding. He was firm there too of course, though his stomach had softened with age, it was all still the tightly packaged body of a warrior. Oh but he was your warrior. A pleasant shiver went down your spine at the thought. 

“Are you cold, dearest?” He leaned down and asked, his hot breath whispering over the shell of your ear, over the softness of the lobe. 

You almost felt mad for a moment. Had you become one of those people, sex-crazed, thinking of nothing but this? But you knew it was only because of Baelor. You would not feel half this way for anyone else. It was simply him, his presence and his closeness, that sent you mad in this way. 

“No, not cold, dearest,” you responded in a fluttery voice, smiling softly to yourself. He hummed simply, nudged the side of your head with his nose, pressed a kiss to your temple that made you warm all over, then leaned back to focus on the ride once more. 

You stayed silent for a little while, enjoying the simple motions of the horse beneath you, the beautiful scenery of the Godswood around you. The birds chirped, the sun filtered through the leaves, and Baelor’s soft breaths brushed the back of your head. 

“Do you understand the beauty of a ride now?” He finally asked in a whisper, utterly contented. 

“I do, but it is not because of the horse,” you answered teasingly, turning your head just so to smirk at him. 

“Oh?” He asked quizzically, though his eyes shined. He raised an eyebrow at you, “do elaborate.” You just giggled at first. 

“I do not wish to be indelicate,” you mumbled, still giggling around the words. 

“Oh dearest, but I wish you to be indelicate,” he retorted, shifting in his seat a little just so he was pressed even closer to you. The thought hit you that he must be perfectly nested against the plush of your behind. Your insides went hot. 

“Hm, well, let me simply say that it is because of the rather handsome man sat very close behind me,” you continued, biting your lip at the flattery. 

“Do go on about the handsome man,” he nudged, pressing his chest even firmer against you, but you dissolved into a fit of giggles, curling into yourself with your laughs. Baelor wrapped his arm around you at the waist and held you tight to himself, chuckling lightly at your antics. 

You straightened up and leaned back into him, relaxing your body and sighing, when he bent his head down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Innocent enough. Then another, a little higher up, his lips creeping toward the collar of your riding coat and tunic. Then another, now half his mouth was perched on the skin, warm and just a little wet where he had licked his lips. A shiver went through you, a tingling arising right at the spot where he kissed you. You were not laughing anymore. 

Again he kissed you, this time on the neck, properly, your braids giving him ample space to mouth at your neck. His breath was warm there against the wetness of his saliva, and his teeth nipped, softly at first, then a little more forceful. You gasped, hands clenching tight on the edge of the saddle, and you pushed back against him. You felt more than heard him grunt, his hand splaying flat to your waist before beginning to traverse your front. 

“Rather adventurous for your first ride,” he mumbled by your ear, tracing his nose against the shell of it, and your eyes fluttered shut, your weight leaning back against him even more. 

The hand not holding the reins carefully undid the front of your riding jacket and slipped inside, splaying against the thin tunic. He traversed his palm and fingers over the fabric, over your tummy and to each side, carefully rubbing there, your skin going warm and tingly despite the barrier of your clothes. You felt hot all over, like you had been laid just high enough above a fire not to burn at its touch but to feel its wrath all the same.  

You panted as his palm went upward, as it cupped your breast through the tunic, as he kneaded it in his palm and fingers and pushed it up a little before releasing it once more. His thumb rubbed over your nipple, back and forth until he was satisfied at the hardness poking through and the way you twitched relentlessly at each electric little swipe. 

“Baelor,” you murmured his name, half moan and half plea, and he simply cooed, nodding against the back of your head and pressing his lips to your neck again, careless of the possible marks. 

“Yes dearest, yes,” he breathed, “I know,” he cooed. You whined a little, but simply clenched your hands tight on the edge of the saddle again. 

Baelor’s hand slid down and under the waistband of your trousers. You felt his fingertips first, creeping over your soft skin, then down until he hit the wetness that had begun to smear along the lips of your cunt. He grunted at that, lips firmer against your neck. He pressed his middle finger there, splitting them and coating his digit with the slick wetness of you. He pulled back up a little, rubbing the slickness against your clit, and you twitched, the pulsing throb beginning already. He slid it back down, the glide of it against your clit warming you all the way up to the inside of your throat. 

Then, with the careful but sure intent of someone who had become rather an expert at this very activity, he pushed both middle and index fingers into you. You moaned, loud and uncaring. The intrusion was hot and persistent, made worse by the pressure of the saddle, inescapable. 

“Baelor,” you moaned again, and he hummed against you, his tongue lascivious against the skin of your neck, long stripes and drags, tasting endlessly. His beard rubbed to the point of overstimulation, and you felt like you were made of lightning. 

“Yes, dearest, yes,” he panted, pulling his fingers out just a little before pressing up into you again. The heel of his palm smushed into that swollen little nub that made you see stars and you twitched, keened, thighs tightening as everything suddenly began climbing much faster than before. 

“Yes, my darling, yes,” he repeated. "You look so lovely like this,” he breathed, “perfectly ruined, just for me.” You shivered, eyes clenching shut and hands tightening. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your body responding only to the pleasure and his voice, whispering into your ear. “You are breathtaking, go on darling.” 

You mhmed through tightly pressed lips, nodded back against his neck and chest, leaning into the rub of his beard against your neck and jaw. He kissed you there, bit lightly, and his hand moved faster, back and forth, rubbing at the sensitive and wet flesh inside of you. Even just the feeling of his fingers moving at your entrance, pressing there, made you tighten and tighten. The pleasure coiled so thick now, reaching up inside you until you were overflowing with it. 

You moaned, loud and long, going stiff and then trembling all of a sudden. You pushed back yet curled in, writhed yet froze, a body made up of contradictions as you went blank with the pleasure of it all. 

Baelor kept his fingers pressed inside you until your panting slowed enough for you to speak again. You leaned your weight fully back against him, trusting that he would hold you up, and he simply hummed, slowly pulling his fingers from you and up out of the waistband. You huffed at the feeling, clenched your thighs a little (though that did nothing), then watched his hand disappear behind your head before the sound of him sucking along his own fingers entered your ears. You trembled, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed and then slowly pulled them out, resting the same hand on your waist once more. 

“Delectable,” he whispered by the side of your head, and you were no longer capable of forming coherent thoughts. Your lips parted but nothing more than a breath came out. “We shall come upon a clearing soon. I believe we should stop and… take rest.” 

Again, all you could do was nod hurriedly.

Taglist: @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist  

[ildico-the-golden]

This was so fucking hot, oh my god

Anyone that could lend me a horse and a Baelor??

[thirstingseason]

hahaha omggg thank you so much! (and fr, if someone gets you a contact for that, could you hmu too 👀)

[thirstingseason]

A (Horse)Ride (Baelor Targaryen x Wife!reader)

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. Just... yeah. I wasn’t really sure about full on sex on the horse but they still get down and dirty, don’t worry 

Summary: Baelor takes you for a ride. On a horse. And then… 

Word count: 2.1k 

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), SMUT: fingering, dirty talk, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)

“I promise to keep you safe, my love,” Baelor placated kindly, cupping your cheek and pulling you in close to press a soft kiss to your forehead. You preened at the attention, smiling at the coarseness of his beard against your skin, and you reached out to splay your hands over his sides, holding him close and taking deep breaths of his wonderfully spicy scent.

“It is not you keeping me safe that I worry about,” you replied in a mumble, nuzzling your nose against his chest before pulling back and glancing at the pretty steed standing calmly a few paces away, saddled and ready. “But rather my own clumsiness and the unknown actions of the creature that worry me.” 

Baelor huffed a chuckle at that, shaking his head just slightly before pressing another kiss to the top of your head and pulling away, leading you to the horse and calmly petting at the mare’s face and neck, cooing to her. You felt almost jealous. He petted and spoke to you that way. But you refrained from making a comment for you feared how teasing he might be at your jealousy over a horse… 

“She is calm and gentle,” he cooed, petting over her neck one more time before patting the saddle and looking back at you. “She will do well for your first horseback ride, do not fret. And I will be with you every step of the way, that I promise you.” 

You finally nodded, walking over and gently offering your flat palm to the horse. She stamped her hooves a little, but then settled once more, bending her head to snuffle at your palm. You giggled softly at the ticklish feeling, whispering to her that she was a good girl before passing your hand over her silky mane and neck. Baelor allowed you a few moments of this, watching you carefully grow your bond and trust with the horse before nudging his head toward her saddle once more. “Alright,” you sighed, “alright, alright,” nodding before stepping up and waiting for him to guide you. 

“I shall do the heavy lifting for today,” he said simply, before grasping you by the waist and hoisting you up into the air. You clenched your mouth tight to stifle your squeal, hurriedly grasping onto the saddle before you went toppling over the other side. He chuckled, pressing one of your legs to the side before telling you to swing the other around carefully. He held you at the waist as well, watching with keen eyes as you did what he said. You clung tight to the saddle, heart pounding, feeling too far off the ground. 

“Well sat,” he praised, patting your thigh once before telling you to scooch forward. He made sure your feet were far forward from the stirrups before he hooked his foot in and hoisted himself quickly onto the horse behind you. You gasped again as the mare naturally shifted forward a little, but Baelor was already well situated behind you, his cloak gathered properly just behind him. 

Your eyes fluttered a little as you leaned back into him, shivering at the pleasured hum he let out. You could feel it, could feel him, right against you, all around you it seemed. He was warm, as he always was, but it felt the way it did when he engulfed you in bed. Yes, that was the right word, engulf. You were engulfed in him. His arms had come around you to hold onto the reins, caging you in with all the muscle. You felt you did not pay enough attention to the muscle of his arms. Firm from wrist to elbow, veined, swathes of tan skin, fine black hairs, so perfect to hold you, to lift you, to just wrap around you. 

Baelor clicked his tongue and gently nudged the horse forward, his hips naturally shifting against your behind, and you gripped the edge of the saddle a little tighter. His scent, whatever spicy mix from Dorne that he still favoured, seemed to stick to your mouth, nose, and tongue, inescapable in a pleasurable way. You would not want to be anywhere else. 

You could feel his stomach and chest against your back, pushing and pulling with every breath and the natural roll of his body from years of practiced horseriding. He was firm there too of course, though his stomach had softened with age, it was all still the tightly packaged body of a warrior. Oh but he was your warrior. A pleasant shiver went down your spine at the thought. 

“Are you cold, dearest?” He leaned down and asked, his hot breath whispering over the shell of your ear, over the softness of the lobe. 

You almost felt mad for a moment. Had you become one of those people, sex-crazed, thinking of nothing but this? But you knew it was only because of Baelor. You would not feel half this way for anyone else. It was simply him, his presence and his closeness, that sent you mad in this way. 

“No, not cold, dearest,” you responded in a fluttery voice, smiling softly to yourself. He hummed simply, nudged the side of your head with his nose, pressed a kiss to your temple that made you warm all over, then leaned back to focus on the ride once more. 

You stayed silent for a little while, enjoying the simple motions of the horse beneath you, the beautiful scenery of the Godswood around you. The birds chirped, the sun filtered through the leaves, and Baelor’s soft breaths brushed the back of your head. 

“Do you understand the beauty of a ride now?” He finally asked in a whisper, utterly contented. 

“I do, but it is not because of the horse,” you answered teasingly, turning your head just so to smirk at him. 

“Oh?” He asked quizzically, though his eyes shined. He raised an eyebrow at you, “do elaborate.” You just giggled at first. 

“I do not wish to be indelicate,” you mumbled, still giggling around the words. 

“Oh dearest, but I wish you to be indelicate,” he retorted, shifting in his seat a little just so he was pressed even closer to you. The thought hit you that he must be perfectly nested against the plush of your behind. Your insides went hot. 

“Hm, well, let me simply say that it is because of the rather handsome man sat very close behind me,” you continued, biting your lip at the flattery. 

“Do go on about the handsome man,” he nudged, pressing his chest even firmer against you, but you dissolved into a fit of giggles, curling into yourself with your laughs. Baelor wrapped his arm around you at the waist and held you tight to himself, chuckling lightly at your antics. 

You straightened up and leaned back into him, relaxing your body and sighing, when he bent his head down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Innocent enough. Then another, a little higher up, his lips creeping toward the collar of your riding coat and tunic. Then another, now half his mouth was perched on the skin, warm and just a little wet where he had licked his lips. A shiver went through you, a tingling arising right at the spot where he kissed you. You were not laughing anymore. 

Again he kissed you, this time on the neck, properly, your braids giving him ample space to mouth at your neck. His breath was warm there against the wetness of his saliva, and his teeth nipped, softly at first, then a little more forceful. You gasped, hands clenching tight on the edge of the saddle, and you pushed back against him. You felt more than heard him grunt, his hand splaying flat to your waist before beginning to traverse your front. 

“Rather adventurous for your first ride,” he mumbled by your ear, tracing his nose against the shell of it, and your eyes fluttered shut, your weight leaning back against him even more. 

The hand not holding the reins carefully undid the front of your riding jacket and slipped inside, splaying against the thin tunic. He traversed his palm and fingers over the fabric, over your tummy and to each side, carefully rubbing there, your skin going warm and tingly despite the barrier of your clothes. You felt hot all over, like you had been laid just high enough above a fire not to burn at its touch but to feel its wrath all the same.  

You panted as his palm went upward, as it cupped your breast through the tunic, as he kneaded it in his palm and fingers and pushed it up a little before releasing it once more. His thumb rubbed over your nipple, back and forth until he was satisfied at the hardness poking through and the way you twitched relentlessly at each electric little swipe. 

“Baelor,” you murmured his name, half moan and half plea, and he simply cooed, nodding against the back of your head and pressing his lips to your neck again, careless of the possible marks. 

“Yes dearest, yes,” he breathed, “I know,” he cooed. You whined a little, but simply clenched your hands tight on the edge of the saddle again. 

Baelor’s hand slid down and under the waistband of your trousers. You felt his fingertips first, creeping over your soft skin, then down until he hit the wetness that had begun to smear along the lips of your cunt. He grunted at that, lips firmer against your neck. He pressed his middle finger there, splitting them and coating his digit with the slick wetness of you. He pulled back up a little, rubbing the slickness against your clit, and you twitched, the pulsing throb beginning already. He slid it back down, the glide of it against your clit warming you all the way up to the inside of your throat. 

Then, with the careful but sure intent of someone who had become rather an expert at this very activity, he pushed both middle and index fingers into you. You moaned, loud and uncaring. The intrusion was hot and persistent, made worse by the pressure of the saddle, inescapable. 

“Baelor,” you moaned again, and he hummed against you, his tongue lascivious against the skin of your neck, long stripes and drags, tasting endlessly. His beard rubbed to the point of overstimulation, and you felt like you were made of lightning. 

“Yes, dearest, yes,” he panted, pulling his fingers out just a little before pressing up into you again. The heel of his palm smushed into that swollen little nub that made you see stars and you twitched, keened, thighs tightening as everything suddenly began climbing much faster than before. 

“Yes, my darling, yes,” he repeated. "You look so lovely like this,” he breathed, “perfectly ruined, just for me.” You shivered, eyes clenching shut and hands tightening. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your body responding only to the pleasure and his voice, whispering into your ear. “You are breathtaking, go on darling.” 

You mhmed through tightly pressed lips, nodded back against his neck and chest, leaning into the rub of his beard against your neck and jaw. He kissed you there, bit lightly, and his hand moved faster, back and forth, rubbing at the sensitive and wet flesh inside of you. Even just the feeling of his fingers moving at your entrance, pressing there, made you tighten and tighten. The pleasure coiled so thick now, reaching up inside you until you were overflowing with it. 

You moaned, loud and long, going stiff and then trembling all of a sudden. You pushed back yet curled in, writhed yet froze, a body made up of contradictions as you went blank with the pleasure of it all. 

Baelor kept his fingers pressed inside you until your panting slowed enough for you to speak again. You leaned your weight fully back against him, trusting that he would hold you up, and he simply hummed, slowly pulling his fingers from you and up out of the waistband. You huffed at the feeling, clenched your thighs a little (though that did nothing), then watched his hand disappear behind your head before the sound of him sucking along his own fingers entered your ears. You trembled, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed and then slowly pulled them out, resting the same hand on your waist once more. 

“Delectable,” he whispered by the side of your head, and you were no longer capable of forming coherent thoughts. Your lips parted but nothing more than a breath came out. “We shall come upon a clearing soon. I believe we should stop and… take rest.” 

Again, all you could do was nod hurriedly.

Taglist: @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist  

[eowyns-fantasy]

oh my

[thirstingseason]

HAHAHAH GIF HAD ME CACKLING 😭 thank you lollll

[idksmtms]

I LOVED A Change In Him. God's baelor is perfect. And your writing is incredible. It got me thinking on how attached and possessive he is with her. Like what if she had to be off because she was unwell and to stay at her home in flea bottom perhaps with her elderly mother who she sends wages back to. Would he send the best maester to her? Insist that she and her mother be brought to him. Have her sleep in his chambers as he nurses over her himself. What he would do if maekar or Valarr questioned him about his beloved reader. Would he be cruel to them in his defense of his affection for her. And in the eventuality of king Daeron and Queen Myrah noticing reader. I imagine that Myriah would be gentle with her when she sees how shy reader is and how happy she makes Baelor. But King Daeron might be less pleased. Would baelor be jealous of any time reader spent with say little Aegon who has taken an interest in this woman who is basically becoming his aunt in all but name, or little rhae who thinks she is pretty. Or Valarr who is angry at his father for his treatment of Jena but not of reader because Valar sees how nervous and shy she is. Or Myriah, rhaegal and Maekar who make an effort to like her and make her laugh. Would be be jealous, be angry of the time she spends with them away from him. Would he see the way Aerion looks at her and feel the urge to ravage her when he takes her to bed in order to lay his claim. Would he imagine having children with her. If she ever felt insecure because of jena or tried to do the right thing, the honorable thing and leave would he threaten to burn the world to keep her? To annull his marriage to Jena. Would he actually annull his marriage to jena. Still have Valarr as his heir but insists he will take reader as his new wife. His beloved. How would he worship her. He would maybe teach her to read, maybe if she ever got pregnant he would somehow find a way to present her with a dragon egg for their babe. Would his need for her grow worse. She might have at one point been his cupbearwr during council meetings but now. Now she's sat on his lap as he breathes in her scent and holds her to him possessively. Dismisses anyone of the servants who would call her a whore or a witch. Snarls at Dunc to stop staring at his beloved. Its all fascinating. Sorry it's so long I just loved the fic so much and it got me thinking.

Hiii! Thank you so much omggg!!! 😆 I'm so happy you enjoyed my fic so much!!! Firstly, yes, Baelor IS perfect, I agree! And secondly, do not worry about the ask being long, there has been longer ones in my inbox hehehe and I do not mind at all, I'm just so happy you enjoyed my fic so much and that it got you thinking thoughtssss!

Ok, I thought I would just have a ramble and answer the questions in this because... I can. Lol. And they're all so good and I love to yap! I've sort of rearranged your ask and sorted them together into sections here so I can address similar points together.

It got me thinking on how attached and possessive he is with her. Like what if she had to be off because she was unwell and to stay at her home in flea bottom perhaps with her elderly mother who she sends wages back to. Would he send the best maester to her? Insist that she and her mother be brought to him. Have her sleep in his chambers as he nurses over her himself.

He is very attached and possessive with her. I like to think that this is one of the personality changes that occurred with the brain injury. Like before the trial he would have been a lot more lax with Jena, would be a lot more open and trusting, but the brain injury probably makes him more volatile, easier to anger, and invokes a lot more insecurity in him, so I think he would be quite attached and possessive with her. In the actual fic, he's already shown to be quite attached. I almost imagine it like Konrad Lorenz and John Bowlby's theories on imprinting and attachment. You were the first person he saw when he woke up, and in this "new" brain, he latched on to you and attached, and it never went away.

I would imagine this scenario as happening a little early on after the affair starts, before he moves her into his own chambers like I've mentioned in previous asks.

Perhaps you were on a regular visit to your mother, and you started feeling ill so you just ended up staying to be nursed back to health. You got someone in the neighbourhood to send a message up to the Keep just to make sure the Housekeeper knew that you would not be in, but that's all you could really manage. Baelor then goes looking for you that day or asking after you, and the Housekeeper has to tell him that you've stayed home because you are ill.

I think this would cause a bit of a spiral. He would not know what to do, what to think, how to act, until he has solved this. I think he would go visit you first and foremost. He would dress plainly, take only one guard, and move low-key through the city until he found your house. Your mother would open the door, shocked that the Crown Prince was at her doorstep, usher him in, and he would find you laying on the only bed, not looking particularly healthy. You weren't dying, but the cold/flu had clearly knocked you off your feet.

He would sit close to you, worry and fuss over you, caress your hair and face and promise you that everything would be alright. He would leave your mother a bucketload of money to make sure you were well fed and well cared for, and then he would leave. Your mother would be shocked begin asking you a bunch of questions, and you would tell her everything because you were overwhelmed and tired, and she would hug you and tell you everything was alright, but that you needed to be very careful about this.

Then that evening, the best maester in Kingslanding would be at your door saying he was sent personally by the Crown Prince to check in on you. Since it was probably just quite an aggressive cold, he prescribes you with some light concoctions and to just keep eating and drinking and resting. This is also told to Baelor, and then he comes to see you the next day as well.

He wants you to come rest in the castle so he can have you properly taken care of, but he doesn't push the idea too much as he doesn't want you to move more than you need to while you are still. Once you've gathered enough strength to move, he instantly has a carriage to bring you and your mother to the palace. She is well taken care of, and you are brought to his chambers so he can personally check on you.

He's still a man in Westerosi times so I don't think he would be like feeding you himself or doing any actual cleaning or keeping or anything, but I def think he would always sit by you or just hover to make sure you were alright. Maybe this is the way he gets you to start staying in his chambers, like after this he just doesn't want you to move out so he can always have you around, and it just stays this way.

Would he imagine having children with her.

I have another ask about this so I'll just split it up and go into this over there because the yap is already getting too long here...

What he would do if maekar or Valarr questioned him about his beloved reader. Would he be cruel to them in his defense of his affection for her. And in the eventuality of king Daeron and Queen Myrah noticing reader. I imagine that Myriah would be gentle with her when she sees how shy reader is and how happy she makes Baelor. But King Daeron might be less pleased.... Or Valarr who is angry at his father for his treatment of Jena but not of reader because Valar sees how nervous and shy she is.... Or Myriah, rhaegal and Maekar who make an effort to like her and make her laugh. Would be be jealous, be angry of the time she spends with them away from him. Would he see the way Aerion looks at her and feel the urge to ravage her when he takes her to bed in order to lay his claim.

I definitely think he would be quite defensive over you when it concerns Maekar and Valarr. I definitely think Valarr would be a lot more angry and frustrated about it than Maekar. Maekar already feels so much guilt from the trial of the seven, and in the original fic I wanted it to be very clear that one of the reasons this happens so easily is because Maekar also chooses to allow it to happen. He's so overcome by guilt for what he did to Baelor that he feels that supporting him in this or allowing him this vice helps him make up for his actions. So I don't think Maekar is really putting up a fuss or anything. He might talk to Baelor, maybe prod or question him a little, but ultimately he backs off and allows it to happen. Honestly, I see Maekar as being quite sympathetic to you because he worries that it's either one of those situations where a commoner has been caught up in the glamour of the crown and that eventually when Baelor gets tired or bored of you, you will be the one to reap the consequences. Or maybe he thinks that you don't want it but feel like you can't say no to Baelor so you just go along with it and pretend you're happy. Or he just pities you regardless because you've become caught up in a situation that you can't fully comprehend, and even if you do love Baelor, you've entered the nest of vipers that is the Red Keep and he hopes you come out of it alright.

Valarr is a lot angrier about it. He feels betrayed. Baelor has hurt his mum, has compromised all his speeches about honour and values to do this, and he feels cheated and wronged himself. Baelor doesn't treat him any differently (except perhaps the new effects from the brain injury, but he does that with everyone so Valarr just sort of learnt to live with it) but he's still angry about it. At first I think he would be angry at you too, he feels like you've taken his father away from his mother, you've seduced him or worked some magic on him or simply that it's your fault. But I think after a while he will see how, yes, though you love Baelor too, Baelor is the one who clearly went after you and is the one clearly initiating everything, so he will sort of begrudgingly gather up sympathy and some kind of care for you.

I don't think Baelor would necessarily be cruel to them if they ever questioned him, but I do think he would be very firm and no nonsense about it. He doesn't want to hear other people's opinions. He loves you, he wants to be with you, so he will be with you, and that's that. They can be upset about it or they can accept it.

With Myriah and Daeron, I think it would also take some time to adjust. Daeron would definitely not be pleased. The whole Blackfyre Rebellion happened because of his father's mistresses and bastards and all of that, so he thinks what Baelor is doing is dangerous. If he has children with this mistress, he is putting the crown and Valarr at risk. He also thinks it is very dishonourable, that Baelor has always been honourable first and foremost but doing this does not look good for him and he does not like this side of his son. I do think that here Baelor would rebutt and tell him that Valarr is his heir and regardless of if he has children with you, Valarr will always be his eldest which means he inherits, simple as. Then I think he would say that he loves you and doesn't care about anything else because he loves you and he wants to be with you and that's all that matters. With Myriah, I think it's a bit more nuanced. I think Myriah would be such a boy mom and would believe that her eldest son can do no wrong, but I also think she would be a bit hesitant about this because she also knows women's position in the world and what this would do to both Jena and you. And she liked Jena so this made this even harder. But I do think, for Baelor's sake, she would try to make an effort with you. She would invite you to tea, or just spend some time to get the feel of you, and I def think she would warm up to you quite quickly after that. While I don't think she would like how blatant Baelor is being in his affair with you, I don't think she would put up too much of a fuss either just because unfortunately, it's also just the way of the world.

I think he would honestly be really happy that the family is making an effort to like you and be around you. He wants that relationship with you and despite all the new volatility from his head injury, I do think he would be really happy if they were making an effort with you. Of course if he felt that it was taking too much time from him, or if he felt it was ever making you uncomfortable in any way then he would step in and be really firm with his boundaries. Perhaps there would be a little bit of jealousy but for this particular scenario, I don't think so. I def think the anger would come in concerning Aerion. Whenever Aerion gets back after his exile in Lys, and let's say he happens to come to Kingslanding as well, I think he would be a bit more protective over you and make sure you know not to ever be alone with Aerion. I think Aerion would be very rude and teasing and testing concerning you. He would openly talk about your new elevated position, call you a "former wench", or even give backhanded compliments like "you are rather pretty for a commoner." This would definitely anger Baelor, and I think there would be a culminating moment where maybe he would shove Aerion against the wall, grab him by the collar, and tell him to keep his mouth shut concerning you lest he lose his tongue with his dignity too. I also think Maekar would be very harsh with Aerion about this because it's his fault that the whole trial happened so all of this is also inadvertently his fault too, but now Maekar has accepted it and you, and he won't take any slander from his good for nothing son towards you.

Would baelor be jealous of any time reader spent with say little Aegon who has taken an interest in this woman who is basically becoming his aunt in all but name, or little rhae who thinks she is pretty.

I think the opposite! I think him seeing you with the children would actually make him sooo happy! I think you would also be more comfortable in the company of the children because they are all really kind to you, they don't really know much about the whole situation so they just treat you like anyone else, and you feel a lot more relaxed in their company. Egg and Rhae are adorable, so if they do ever find themselves in your company, you're really nice to them, help sneak them snacks and sweets from the kitchens, play games with them in the gardens, all the things you did in Flea Bottom with the neighbourhood children. So in return, they also start to really like you, and I think this influences everyone else's opinions about you as well. The only time he would be annoyed about this would be if it's getting late in the evening and he wants his alone time with you but they just keep hanging about. Rather than be annoyed or mean or too jealous though, I think he would just politely send them off and invite them to return to you on the morrow. Overall, in this, I think he would just see it as a sign that he should have children with you, because you do such a wonderful job with Egg and Rhae that he thinks you two deserve to have a little brood of your own together.

If she ever felt insecure because of jena or tried to do the right thing, the honorable thing and leave would he threaten to burn the world to keep her? To annull his marriage to Jena. Would he actually annull his marriage to jena. Still have Valarr as his heir but insists he will take reader as his new wife.

Yes. Just yes. If you were hit by that guilt in full force and decided that ruining all these things, ruining the honour of the crown prince, was not worth it, and you told him so and tried to leave, he would def tell you that he would not rest until you were his. It would be both very loving and slightly terrifying. He would tell you that he would annul his marriage to Jena, that he would just marry you as well (it has been done in Targaryen history), he would do anything to make you happy, to keep you happy, and to keep you with him. He would even threaten to abdicate and go to Essos with you if that's what you want (but obviously you would not make him do that so you tell him to hush). But yes, he has definitely become a "I would burn the world down for you" type of man with you. This one is a little tricky because I def think it could go both ways. I think it would be a huge shock and the kingdom would be a bit uneasy if he annulled his marriage. I think it would take a lot to get the Septons to agree to it, and eventually he would remarry you, but make it clear to everyone that Valarr is and always will remain the heir. This would definitely shake everything up and everything would be unsettled for a little while. Or I can def see him just... marrying you too. It's happened in Westerosi history, it happens in our world too, so I can def see him just being like "you will become my wife too. In my eyes you are my only wife and who cares about anyone else." I think this would also be a big drama and shake up the kingdom but I think Westerosi society would find this more palatable than an annulment so I think this would probably be what happens. It would also be kinder to Jena in a way, because she would remain taken care of and safe in her position in the castle and as Baelor's wife, but she just wouldn't really be cared about any more...

He would maybe teach her to read, maybe if she ever got pregnant he would somehow find a way to present her with a dragon egg for their babe. Would his need for her grow worse. She might have at one point been his cupbearwr during council meetings but now. Now she's sat on his lap as he breathes in her scent and holds her to him possessively. Dismisses anyone of the servants who would call her a whore or a witch. Snarls at Dunc to stop staring at his beloved.

I think I've talked about it in another ask but he def teaches her to read and it's really sweet. As much as I love the idea about him trying to find a dragon egg for her, I do not think that would happen hehehe. I have to let my girl Danaerys be special and keep her dragons!!! But that does give me another idea, like a fic where baelor/maekar hear about a dragon egg still existing and they try to find it for their lover?? hmmm maybe I will write this...

If she ever does get pregnant, his need for her skyrockets to epic levels. That is living proof of your love. A creature born of the two of you now exists and grows in your womb, cared for and fed by you, his beloved. He cannot get over his joy. He obviously makes sure you have the best of everything in this time, and let's just say the bedroom stays busy...

I think some semblance of professionalism remains during council meetings, so maybe not during 😭🤣, but between meetings, he def has you in his lap, or in his study, or just any time other than council meetings, he holds you close, has you in his lap, just keeps you as close as possible to soak up your presence. I def think he has her as the cupbearer. I def think she stays that way even after they get together because he wants her there always and this is the easiest way for that to happen. I think after you two become common knowledge he may try to stop you from doing it, but if you tell him that you like it, that it keeps you busy or that you just like listening or doing a little work, then he def won't stop you either.

Definitely has a no-tolerance policy about you. Anyone heard to be malicious or anything other than absolutely polite will be dismissed from the castle with immediate effect. No nonsense like this whatsoever. I think this might make it awkward for you in the kitchens or with the other servants you might have called friends once but like... it's staying.

I def think Dunc would just be being nice, he would just be smiling politely at you or helping you with something, or just being his genuine usual amazing self, and Baelor would just be there like "🤨😒😑". He would tell him to stop staring or would tell him to remember his place or just tell him to watch himself, and Dunc would just be like "😟 I... didn't do anything???" but that does not matter.

I... am so sorry for how long this is. I really got way too into it. Thank you so much for this ask, I haven't written like this in a while hehehe!

[thirstingseason]

got a lovely ask for my fic A Change In Him so I've answered it here! get ready for a long one y'all lol!!!

[thirstingseason]

A (Horse)Ride (Baelor Targaryen x Wife!reader)

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. Just... yeah. I wasn’t really sure about full on sex on the horse but they still get down and dirty, don’t worry 

Summary: Baelor takes you for a ride. On a horse. And then… 

Word count: 2.1k 

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), SMUT: fingering, dirty talk, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)

“I promise to keep you safe, my love,” Baelor placated kindly, cupping your cheek and pulling you in close to press a soft kiss to your forehead. You preened at the attention, smiling at the coarseness of his beard against your skin, and you reached out to splay your hands over his sides, holding him close and taking deep breaths of his wonderfully spicy scent.

“It is not you keeping me safe that I worry about,” you replied in a mumble, nuzzling your nose against his chest before pulling back and glancing at the pretty steed standing calmly a few paces away, saddled and ready. “But rather my own clumsiness and the unknown actions of the creature that worry me.” 

Baelor huffed a chuckle at that, shaking his head just slightly before pressing another kiss to the top of your head and pulling away, leading you to the horse and calmly petting at the mare’s face and neck, cooing to her. You felt almost jealous. He petted and spoke to you that way. But you refrained from making a comment for you feared how teasing he might be at your jealousy over a horse… 

“She is calm and gentle,” he cooed, petting over her neck one more time before patting the saddle and looking back at you. “She will do well for your first horseback ride, do not fret. And I will be with you every step of the way, that I promise you.” 

You finally nodded, walking over and gently offering your flat palm to the horse. She stamped her hooves a little, but then settled once more, bending her head to snuffle at your palm. You giggled softly at the ticklish feeling, whispering to her that she was a good girl before passing your hand over her silky mane and neck. Baelor allowed you a few moments of this, watching you carefully grow your bond and trust with the horse before nudging his head toward her saddle once more. “Alright,” you sighed, “alright, alright,” nodding before stepping up and waiting for him to guide you. 

“I shall do the heavy lifting for today,” he said simply, before grasping you by the waist and hoisting you up into the air. You clenched your mouth tight to stifle your squeal, hurriedly grasping onto the saddle before you went toppling over the other side. He chuckled, pressing one of your legs to the side before telling you to swing the other around carefully. He held you at the waist as well, watching with keen eyes as you did what he said. You clung tight to the saddle, heart pounding, feeling too far off the ground. 

“Well sat,” he praised, patting your thigh once before telling you to scooch forward. He made sure your feet were far forward from the stirrups before he hooked his foot in and hoisted himself quickly onto the horse behind you. You gasped again as the mare naturally shifted forward a little, but Baelor was already well situated behind you, his cloak gathered properly just behind him. 

Your eyes fluttered a little as you leaned back into him, shivering at the pleasured hum he let out. You could feel it, could feel him, right against you, all around you it seemed. He was warm, as he always was, but it felt the way it did when he engulfed you in bed. Yes, that was the right word, engulf. You were engulfed in him. His arms had come around you to hold onto the reins, caging you in with all the muscle. You felt you did not pay enough attention to the muscle of his arms. Firm from wrist to elbow, veined, swathes of tan skin, fine black hairs, so perfect to hold you, to lift you, to just wrap around you. 

Baelor clicked his tongue and gently nudged the horse forward, his hips naturally shifting against your behind, and you gripped the edge of the saddle a little tighter. His scent, whatever spicy mix from Dorne that he still favoured, seemed to stick to your mouth, nose, and tongue, inescapable in a pleasurable way. You would not want to be anywhere else. 

You could feel his stomach and chest against your back, pushing and pulling with every breath and the natural roll of his body from years of practiced horseriding. He was firm there too of course, though his stomach had softened with age, it was all still the tightly packaged body of a warrior. Oh but he was your warrior. A pleasant shiver went down your spine at the thought. 

“Are you cold, dearest?” He leaned down and asked, his hot breath whispering over the shell of your ear, over the softness of the lobe. 

You almost felt mad for a moment. Had you become one of those people, sex-crazed, thinking of nothing but this? But you knew it was only because of Baelor. You would not feel half this way for anyone else. It was simply him, his presence and his closeness, that sent you mad in this way. 

“No, not cold, dearest,” you responded in a fluttery voice, smiling softly to yourself. He hummed simply, nudged the side of your head with his nose, pressed a kiss to your temple that made you warm all over, then leaned back to focus on the ride once more. 

You stayed silent for a little while, enjoying the simple motions of the horse beneath you, the beautiful scenery of the Godswood around you. The birds chirped, the sun filtered through the leaves, and Baelor’s soft breaths brushed the back of your head. 

“Do you understand the beauty of a ride now?” He finally asked in a whisper, utterly contented. 

“I do, but it is not because of the horse,” you answered teasingly, turning your head just so to smirk at him. 

“Oh?” He asked quizzically, though his eyes shined. He raised an eyebrow at you, “do elaborate.” You just giggled at first. 

“I do not wish to be indelicate,” you mumbled, still giggling around the words. 

“Oh dearest, but I wish you to be indelicate,” he retorted, shifting in his seat a little just so he was pressed even closer to you. The thought hit you that he must be perfectly nested against the plush of your behind. Your insides went hot. 

“Hm, well, let me simply say that it is because of the rather handsome man sat very close behind me,” you continued, biting your lip at the flattery. 

“Do go on about the handsome man,” he nudged, pressing his chest even firmer against you, but you dissolved into a fit of giggles, curling into yourself with your laughs. Baelor wrapped his arm around you at the waist and held you tight to himself, chuckling lightly at your antics. 

You straightened up and leaned back into him, relaxing your body and sighing, when he bent his head down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Innocent enough. Then another, a little higher up, his lips creeping toward the collar of your riding coat and tunic. Then another, now half his mouth was perched on the skin, warm and just a little wet where he had licked his lips. A shiver went through you, a tingling arising right at the spot where he kissed you. You were not laughing anymore. 

Again he kissed you, this time on the neck, properly, your braids giving him ample space to mouth at your neck. His breath was warm there against the wetness of his saliva, and his teeth nipped, softly at first, then a little more forceful. You gasped, hands clenching tight on the edge of the saddle, and you pushed back against him. You felt more than heard him grunt, his hand splaying flat to your waist before beginning to traverse your front. 

“Rather adventurous for your first ride,” he mumbled by your ear, tracing his nose against the shell of it, and your eyes fluttered shut, your weight leaning back against him even more. 

The hand not holding the reins carefully undid the front of your riding jacket and slipped inside, splaying against the thin tunic. He traversed his palm and fingers over the fabric, over your tummy and to each side, carefully rubbing there, your skin going warm and tingly despite the barrier of your clothes. You felt hot all over, like you had been laid just high enough above a fire not to burn at its touch but to feel its wrath all the same.  

You panted as his palm went upward, as it cupped your breast through the tunic, as he kneaded it in his palm and fingers and pushed it up a little before releasing it once more. His thumb rubbed over your nipple, back and forth until he was satisfied at the hardness poking through and the way you twitched relentlessly at each electric little swipe. 

“Baelor,” you murmured his name, half moan and half plea, and he simply cooed, nodding against the back of your head and pressing his lips to your neck again, careless of the possible marks. 

“Yes dearest, yes,” he breathed, “I know,” he cooed. You whined a little, but simply clenched your hands tight on the edge of the saddle again. 

Baelor’s hand slid down and under the waistband of your trousers. You felt his fingertips first, creeping over your soft skin, then down until he hit the wetness that had begun to smear along the lips of your cunt. He grunted at that, lips firmer against your neck. He pressed his middle finger there, splitting them and coating his digit with the slick wetness of you. He pulled back up a little, rubbing the slickness against your clit, and you twitched, the pulsing throb beginning already. He slid it back down, the glide of it against your clit warming you all the way up to the inside of your throat. 

Then, with the careful but sure intent of someone who had become rather an expert at this very activity, he pushed both middle and index fingers into you. You moaned, loud and uncaring. The intrusion was hot and persistent, made worse by the pressure of the saddle, inescapable. 

“Baelor,” you moaned again, and he hummed against you, his tongue lascivious against the skin of your neck, long stripes and drags, tasting endlessly. His beard rubbed to the point of overstimulation, and you felt like you were made of lightning. 

“Yes, dearest, yes,” he panted, pulling his fingers out just a little before pressing up into you again. The heel of his palm smushed into that swollen little nub that made you see stars and you twitched, keened, thighs tightening as everything suddenly began climbing much faster than before. 

“Yes, my darling, yes,” he repeated. "You look so lovely like this,” he breathed, “perfectly ruined, just for me.” You shivered, eyes clenching shut and hands tightening. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your body responding only to the pleasure and his voice, whispering into your ear. “You are breathtaking, go on darling.” 

You mhmed through tightly pressed lips, nodded back against his neck and chest, leaning into the rub of his beard against your neck and jaw. He kissed you there, bit lightly, and his hand moved faster, back and forth, rubbing at the sensitive and wet flesh inside of you. Even just the feeling of his fingers moving at your entrance, pressing there, made you tighten and tighten. The pleasure coiled so thick now, reaching up inside you until you were overflowing with it. 

You moaned, loud and long, going stiff and then trembling all of a sudden. You pushed back yet curled in, writhed yet froze, a body made up of contradictions as you went blank with the pleasure of it all. 

Baelor kept his fingers pressed inside you until your panting slowed enough for you to speak again. You leaned your weight fully back against him, trusting that he would hold you up, and he simply hummed, slowly pulling his fingers from you and up out of the waistband. You huffed at the feeling, clenched your thighs a little (though that did nothing), then watched his hand disappear behind your head before the sound of him sucking along his own fingers entered your ears. You trembled, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed and then slowly pulled them out, resting the same hand on your waist once more. 

“Delectable,” he whispered by the side of your head, and you were no longer capable of forming coherent thoughts. Your lips parted but nothing more than a breath came out. “We shall come upon a clearing soon. I believe we should stop and… take rest.” 

Again, all you could do was nod hurriedly.

Taglist: @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist  

[idksmtms]

Remember My Name (Tom Wambsgans x Reader)

A/N: I wrote this a little while ago, forgot I wrote it, and then @erica-tale13 commented on the masterlist and I knew I had to do this for her! I would have posted it on the new blog but my masterlist is on this one so I thought I would just post it here too!

Summary: Tom has debased himself for the Roy family for such a long time, but now he’s the one in control. And all he’s ever wanted was for someone to remember his name. 

Word count:  ~2k

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, cheating/infidelity, happy ending, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any Succession characters. I do not claim to own any Succession characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You smiled at Tom from across the room, taking a sip from your glass to disguise how it brightened and stretched against your will. His eyes were so expressive. You could always tell what he was thinking, and you could see the mischievousness and joy in them at that moment as he smiled at you in return before rubbing his hand over his mouth to try and settle his expression. This game you played could only be continued if you both stayed subtle about it. 

You would both make eye contact at some random point, as naturally as it might happen for anyone at a party, and try to communicate how you were feeling at that exact moment. Usually, when you were looking at Tom, you could only smile, and more than once it had taken everything in you to stop your laughter bursting out when he made some funny expression to you all the way across the room. 

All of… this had started about two months after you had joined WayStar. You had been sort of aware about the tumultuous nature of the Roy family, all their scandals and fights and constant back and forth, but you were lucky to be on the outskirts. And then your role had moved, and suddenly you were working with Tom. Innocent looking, smiley, and immensely goofy Tom who had managed to wriggle his way into your heart. 

During work hours he would somehow find his way to your desk, and then spend an inappropriate amount of time just standing there and chatting to you. Then suddenly he came to the staff drinks. A courtesy invite had been extended to him for a while, but no one expected him to attend, and frankly, no one wanted him to attend. The vibe would be weird if the boss was around. But then he spent the entire night talking to you, both of you secluded in your own corner of the bar. 

“You’ve really never had caviar?” He asked, as if it was the same thing as asking if someone had never had a french fry. You laughed at that, shaking your head at him and sipping at your drink. 

“No, Mr. Wambsgans. I’m paid well but not that well,” and then you smirked, “you know, you’re really showing your rich colours right now?” He had chuckled and looked away, going a little pink around his neck and ears before mumbling something about getting you to try caviar and then pivoting the conversation. 

Days and nights continued this way, you returning home to giggle about how Tom had come to chat with you, and him returning to a bleak apartment where his wife was either nowhere to be found, or asking him to do things that he did not want to do. 

And then one night, when you were both working late and it was raining cats and dogs, he offered you a ride home. He knew you took the subway, he knew which station you got off at, and he knew that he would be wrong not to offer at least. He was just being a good boss… 

But you had accepted, nervously bundling yourself into the backseat next to him and telling the driver your address. Both of you spent the entire ride in silence, glancing back and forth with little smiles and giggling when you caught each other’s eyes, like giddy prom dates in a limo. 

When you reached your place and slid out of the car, you had bent down and looked right into his eyes as you offered him a coffee in your apartment. He stared at you, thought about the voicemail Shiv had sent telling him she would be home late (or not home at all) and nodded, following after you. 

Your apartment was cute and cozy. He hadn’t stepped foot in a place this small since he had first moved to New York, but he fell in love with it almost as fast as he had fallen for you. You turned on a million lamps to light the place, a soft yellow glow in some places, a little red, blue, or green in others where you had thrown scarves over the lamps or gathered interesting lampshades. The sofas were covered in knitted or crocheted blankets in a myriad of colours, and you had at least one houseplant on every table and windowsill. The air smelt of vanilla and cinnamon and low and slow music began to play from a speaker somewhere. 

You stood in the middle of the living room a little shyly after you both had deposited your coats and shoes, smiling at him and gesturing around a little. You offered him coffee again, pointing in the direction of the kitchen, but he simply walked up to you and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I’m sorry if that wasn’t what you wanted when you invited me up, but I fucking had to,” he breathed out quietly, the air brushing against your lips. You smiled, laughed a little, and nodded your head against his. 

“No, I- heh, I was hoping you actually got the message and didn’t think it was really about the coffee. I’m not even sure if I have any coffee in the house right now.” 

He had kissed you again, stumbled with you to your bedroom, and stayed until the sun was beginning to rise and he was forced to leave to make sure he had time to shower and change before work. 

It was a fun and warm thing you two shared (despite the infidelity of it all). You shared secret smiles and chaste kisses in the office, giggly and chatty car rides, and long cozy nights in your apartment. You didn’t label it, didn’t really discuss it, but you just kind of knew… Everything he didn’t have in his marriage, in his family, he got with you. 

Sometimes he came to you angry, or frustrated, or just upset. Shiv had done something, Logan had said something, some member of the Roy family had treated him like shit on their shoe despite all the work he did for them. But he didn’t treat you like something to use to wipe up his bad emotions. When he was happy, excited, or simply content, he came to you first too. Through Tom, you learnt about the Roys, and any guilt you may have had at one point about being in a relationship with a married man was quickly assuaged. 

With Tom, Greg also came into your life. Though neither of you had said anything to him, you were quite sure Greg had guessed your role in Tom’s life. But Tom had assured you he wouldn’t say anything, and you let it lie. If nothing else, it was nice to know that Tom had a friend other than you. 

Amidst all this came the changes. When Tom told you he and Shiv were separating, you had frozen in shock. You had so many questions, many related to your position in his life now and whether she had found out, but he had simply placed an exhausted kiss on your lips and gone to bed in the warmth of your apartment. 

It seemed he had come straight over after the argument. Come morning, he told you that Shiv didn’t know about you, that it hadn’t been anything like that, but simply that he and Shiv had finally reached their breaking point, and neither of them could ignore it. Though he wasn’t throwing any parties, Tom seemed content with the turn of events, and so you said nothing else about it. 

And then all of a sudden Logan Roy was dead, and Waystar almost sold to Lukas Mattsson. So here you were, attending some company party related to something or other, and smiling gently at Tom across the room. 

You looked away and rejoined the group conversation you were supposedly part of, tuning in to someone talking about a burgeoning HR violation in the office, when a hand lightly grasped your arm and leaned into the circle. 

“Hey guys, just gonna borrow her for a minute,” and then you were being guided away through the party, and out into a secluded hallway. You put your glass down on an end table and turned to face Tom, smiling with a tinge of confusion as he beamed at you. 

“Hey, wha-” he grasped your face and pulled you tightly into a kiss. You ‘mmphed’ in surprise, resting your hands against his ribs and clenching his blazer a little. He pulled away with an obnoxious sound but continued holding your face in his hands. You looked up at him a little dazed, mouth opening and closing like a fish, before you huffed a little laugh. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve just created an opportunity that will change my life. I’m not gonna talk about it until it’s done, but… honey, I’m on my way to the top, and I don’t want anyone with me but you.” 

You smiled a little quizzically at him but didn’t say anything to question it. You loved seeing him happy, and you wouldn’t ruin it right now. 

“Uh, ok,” you laughed a little, reaching up and gently running your thumb along his cheek. You reached up and kissed where you had just touched. “I would love to be there with you,” you said quietly, and he simply dropped his forehead to yours and sighed in contentment. 

No one was more shocked than you when it was announced that Tom would become the new CEO. It had taken all your willpower not to react at the office, to wait until you were at your apartment and he arrived a few hours later. You kissed him at the door, long and deep until you were both laughing and gasping and were forced to pull away. 

He guided you into the living room, sat next to you on the couch and explained how it had happened so quickly, how it had taken every ounce of his power to make it happen. But you could see the shine in his eyes, the renewed confidence and ambition that had once been crushed by the Roy family. You told him that you two should do something to celebrate, but he had only taken your hand and led you to the bedroom, stating that he had a few particular celebrations in mind. 

And a week later he told you about how Shiv had come crawling back, trying to entice him back for her own benefit. He told you this just before getting down on one knee and asking you to marry him. 

“When I said I only wanted you with me at the top, I meant it.” His eyes were glassy as he stared up at you, the lavish diamond ring winking in the box he held in one hand, the other gripping one of yours. Your own tears had begun to collect as you pressed your hand to your mouth and gasped behind it. “All I ever wanted was for someone to remember my name, to remember me. And you’re the only one who ever did.” 

You mumbled the word yes so many times, it began to sound like nothing. You dropped to your knees and pressed yourself to him, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, any bit of skin you could. He was laughing elatedly in your ear, kissing the top of your head before pulling back and creating a little space between you. He reached down and gripped your hand, shakily pulling the ring out of its box and slipping it onto your finger. 

You kissed him again before whispering, “you deserve to be remembered Tom Wambsgans.”

[idksmtms]

https://x.com/cosimadda/status/2060070687218282899?s=20 Found this and it literally made me think of the DILs lmao, imagine if they were to come across any portraits of their fathers-in-law back when they were young (around the time of the blackfyre rebellion) i just know they'd burst right there

omgggg this is actually perfect!!! And this gives me a chance to ramble about my fav young baelor and maekar fancasts 😝

So from what I've seen of GOT, HOTD and AKOTSK so far, it's supposed to be a medieval style environment and it's mostly tapestries for depiction, not really realistic paintings. I think the only time we truly see an attempt at realistic style painting was with Tanzelle for Dunk's shield (pls correct me if I'm wrong tho because I am not at all an expert on any of this kind of stuff lol). But let's run with this idea that Renaissance painting and at least semi-realism painting has reached Westeros by this point.

Obviously the royal family would be sitting for portraits then to commemorate their legacy and just as shows of strength and glamour, etc. I would say they have a family portrait with everyone before the Blackfyre Rebellion, and then they do individual portraits of Maekar and Baelor after the Rebellion as a sort of commemoration for their achievements in the field.

NOW. I see two very very specific fancasts for young Baelor and Maekar. You've probably seen them around too. I can't remember which specific post I saw first for the fancasts, but Josh Heuston as young Baelor was life changing... I saw someone do a fancast of Rufus Sewell from A Knight's Tale as young Baelor too and I loved that one as well, but Josh Heuston takes the cake. Like, him in Dune Prophecy (haven't seen it yet oop) was the perfect look to have for this fancast. So I see him in this portrait of young Baelor.

And by farrrr my favourite recent fancast of literally any fandom has been George Mackay as young Maekar. Just... yes. I was already a fan of him (if anyone else saw Private Peaceful at a critical age and was forever scarred by it... hmu), but then I saw someone (again, don't remember who, sorryyy) fancast him as young Maekar and I was shook to my core. Just yes. JUST YES. And then, if you have seen the teaser trailer for the new sense and sensibility??? THE WINK??? Yesssirrrr.

So, with that established, if I ever write young maekar or baelor, just know that that's who I am imagining. ANYWAY, back to your original message! :) For now tho, I am still imagining younger bertie because that DILF has some magical voodoo hold over me unlike I have ever experienced. I mean, I thought I had been inappropriately obsessed with a dilf before but damn... anyway.

It would happen completely by chance. Maybe DIL!B has been a bit bored recently (Baelor is particularly busy for some time) and has taken to exploring the castle and going through the stores to just look through items or in an attempt to redecorate her chambers or Baelor's chambers or one of the many many solars or sitting rooms about the place. Or maybe DIL!M is bored with her chambers or wants to spruce up Maekar's chambers and has decided to go through all the art in the place to decide on some new pieces to rotate in.

Of course they have seen the current portraits. There are far more recent portraits hung up of their Fathers and the King and Queen and even their husbands. Maybe there are even portraits of them hung now too, maybe commissioned for their wedding day, to add to the halls. And because of this, the older portraits have been put into storage for safe keeping, so the DILs didn't even know they existed because almost everyone forgot about them.

But then, as they are going through all the art, pulling dust cloths off of frames and flicking through all the ornate pieces, they are stopped in their tracks by this slightly older but magnificently well done portrait of who can only be their FILs. They are in shock, pulling out the huge and beautiful portrait to be front and centre, bringing them into the light so they can ogle at them. My oh my, how did they not know these existed?! It feels a crime to have kept these away from them!

Now, I think the DILs would desperately want to bring these portraits up and have them hung in their chambers just so they can always have an image of Father around, or just to have this sweet memory, this piece of the man that they love, near them, but it would toe the line of propriety too much. Just because it is obvious to everyone that they are together, does not mean they need to make it more blatant. Even if Valarr/Aerion know and choose to ignore it, it feels to obvious, too outright, to be done.

So instead, they start something new! They dedicate one of the halls in the Red Keep/Summerhall to be a hall of portraits. They hang up these portraits of their FILs, they hang up portraits of their husbands too, and sneakily they format it so that their own portraits hang suspiciously nearer to their FILs than their husbands... but no one is really looking hard enough to question it. It becomes this lovely little project for them, and any time a new painting or portrait is commissioned, it goes straight to that hall so the collection continues to grow.

After finding the portraits, they go to Baelor/Maekar and show them what they've found and just squeal about how handsome they used to be (and still are obvi!).

Maekar can't really handle it, he feels so embarrassed seeing this younger version of himself staring back at him and hearing the way you fawn over him. He has really mixed feelings because on the one hand, it's so nice to be fawned over by you, and though he would never admit it, it definitely boosts his ego to know that you think he's handsome. But then it also makes him feel old. It's been a while since this portrait, you're currently with a very different person than the one in the image. Though he's always been a grump, there used to be light in his eyes once, a spark in him that hadn't been snuffed out yet, and it made him insecure about his relationship with you. Did you truly feel happy with the old man that you had now, rather than the young one in the portrait? Did you wish him to be the one in the painting rather than the one you had, and were now disappointed at having discovered what could have been?

And he's mulling over these thoughts and beginning to brood when suddenly you're nuzzling up to him again and smiling brightly and petting at his cheeks and beard saying things like, "while you were very handsome and charming then, I think you look far better the way I have you now," or "hm, that young man looked rather charming, but I love my grumpy Father! You look so rugged and perfect for me to climb on! I fear I would have broken the one in the painting."

And obviously he scoffs at that, clicks his tongue, shakes his head, but he also bends down and kisses you silly then because it's as if you always know just what to say to distract him, even if it is with insolence.

With Baelor, I see it just being very sweet and wistful. You show him your discovery and he just laughs and hums and looks at it and thinks about what he was like at the time, rather more brash and irresponsible than he considered himself now. You keep glancing between the portrait and him and smiling brightly and telling him how handsome he looked back then and how nothing has changed now. It makes him laugh again and he just presses a soft kiss to your lips. He makes a joke about how he's far more haggard and worn now, though he doesn't mean it with any malice, but you just shush him and tell him he looks "experienced" and "perfectly aged like the finest wine". It just makes him laugh more and kiss you.

For both baelor and maekar - a few days later you see that a painter has come because the prince has requested a portrait to be made of you, just you, to be put in that hall as well. And you of course choose to wear your favourite dresses that always make Father go woowoo just to make sure the painting has the best impact. And then secretly they have a smaller portrait, maybe pocket sized, or a pocket sized drawing, be made up as well, just so that they can always keep something to remember you by with them. :')

I'm so sorry for the long yap... I genuinely thought I would keep it short and sweet but then I just kept typing...

[idksmtms]

The Other Wife (Cregan Stark x reader)

Request 

A/N: 1. I am so sorry it has taken me almost a year to get to this… 

2. Thank you so much for the request anon! I know I’m the slowest writer on the planet but thank you for sending it in and giving me this wonderful idea! I really enjoyed writing it (and by that I mean it put me through seven levels of emotional torture which is exactly the conditions I thrive in…) 

Edit: I have spent a week writing this and I have never been so drained both emotionally and physically while writing fanfic omfg 

Summary: When Cregan Stark begins looking for a second wife, you are put forth as a viable candidate. But once you are chosen, all your fantasies of having a loving husband and the chance for a family are poured away when you find out that everything is not quite as it seems.  

Word count: ~24.3k (what the actual fuck) 

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, ANGST, unrequited love, depictions of a panic attack, thoughts of suicide/suicidal ideation, depictions of depression, canon-typical views on women/sex/gender/marriage/etc, smut (but it’s both sad and sexy), kidnapping (technically), (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You smiled as you patiently waited for Dyanna to finish threading the last of your hair into a braid. You smoothed your hands over the silvery grey fabric of your skirts and tried your hardest not to twist it in your hands. Though you were trying to be patient, you were also excited. 

When the call was first sent out into Winterfell and the surrounding areas that Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, was looking for a wife, a flurry of activity began in every house with an eligible daughter. It had, of course, only been two moons prior that each of these houses had come to pay respect to the lord for the death of his infant son and the precarious condition of the Lady Arra. It appeared that the pressure of producing an heir, and the never-ending suggestions of his advisors for him to take a second wife had proved fruitful. The call was sent out, and all eligible ladies of some relevant rank were invited to Winterfell to take part in a week of festivities, during which Lord Stark would choose a new bride.

You were not low-born by any means, but you were also most certainly not going to be the lady of the highest rank in attendance. Furthermore, your presence at these festivities (starting with a welcome feast in the great hall of Winterfell) was purely for the joy of it. You had two older brothers, married already and with enough heirs to ensure the continuation of the line. You even had an older sister who was happily married to a more southern lord and had taken up residence in his manor. You were the last of the children in your home, and though your parents wished for an advantageous match for you as well, it was not so essential anymore. You were given rather more freedom than your siblings in this regard, and though your family hoped you may somehow come out of this week of festivities as the new Lady of Winterfell, they also knew Lord Stark would not be the only eligible male in attendance. There were options abound and even endless entertainment for the young ladies. It suited everyone. 

Your attitude had settled itself somewhere in the middle of all of this scheming. You wished to be married now. Even in childhood you had always wanted to play mother, to walk about with your ragged dolls made of cloth and pretend you were happily married and raising your baby. You longed for the chance to make the games reality, to find a man whom you loved, to have a horde of children and run a home the way you wished to. You had heard time and again from other ladies of matches made with no consideration for love and homes that turned into prisons, but you were just sheltered enough to believe you may be the exception. 

However, you also knew you had the luxury of time still, that you need not rush to find a match. So you made it your mission to enjoy the festivities as well. You would eat the delicacies they offered, explore every nook and cranny of Winterfell, and enjoy having time to frolic with friends you may never see again after the festivities were over. You were determined to enjoy yourself, and to simply hope to find a match rather than chase it. 

Your family was lucky enough to be one of those housed at the castle and not a nearby inn, and so you could observe the preparations for the feasts and festivities. Upon the arrival of your carriages, there had been a distinct lack of the Lord. One of his advisors had greeted your family, apologised on his behalf (some excuse on being called away on urgent business or other spilling from his lips hurriedly), before leading you to your chambers. And there you had stayed, lounging and slowly readying yourself for the magnificent opening feast to be laid before everyone that evening. You could occasionally hear servants bustling by your door, speaking about their duties, and it had filled you with a buzzing sort of excitement, simmering deep in your limbs as you walked back and forth in your room. 

Though time passed slower than you would have wished it to, eventually you were led to the main hall just behind your mother and father. It had been beautifully decorated, with tapestries and sashes of fabric gracing the walls and each chandelier fully lighted (the occasional stray drip of wax falling somewhere near the edges of the hall). As many long tables as could be fitted crowded the main floor and were already brimming with ladies and their families. 

The table of honour was set on the dais facing the rest of the great hall. Advisors lined each side and in the middle sat Lord Cregan. As you walked further into the hall, you barely even offered him a glance, watching everyone and everything else with wide dazzled eyes. He was draped in dark grey furs and sat low in his seat, gazing off into the distance. He seemed to be frowning, but you couldn’t tell if he was actually annoyed or if it was simply a naturally set furrow on his brow. Then you looked away once more as you were led to your place at one of the more middle tables but near the edge closest to the dais. 

You gathered your skirts and sat down, instantly twisting this way and that to marvel at the festivities, like you had become a curious and squirrely little girl once more. Another maiden sat to your right and both of you smiled brightly and fell into giggles upon noticing the matching looks of awe you wore. She commented on the plates, you on the tapestries, and you were quick to fall into conversation 

Once everyone had entered the great hall and the chatter became so deafening you had to yell to hear one another, Lord Cregan stood from his seat and raised his goblet high in the air. A hush was quick to fall over the entire room as they followed suit, standing at their seats and picking up their goblets in return, and you finally took a moment to properly study your lord. 

Though he was smiling now, it seemed practiced, bordering on disinterest. His furs were beautiful, cleanly cut and balanced on his shoulders with a certain regality one must be born with. You could not deny that he was handsome, perhaps more handsome than many of the other men you had ever seen. He was stocky in build in a way that belied muscle, with a broad torso and shoulders, arms as thick as tree trunks. Though he was not the most tall man you had ever seen, he would still tower over you, and his long hair was clean and well-kept, tied back to keep out of his face. You were sure that the Lady Arra must have been quite ecstatic upon their betrothal, and at the thought you turned your face away for a moment and as a hot blush rushed your cheeks. It would be safe to say that whichever woman was selected in the coming week would be blessed in many ways. 

“Welcome everyone,” he began, slowly moving his eyes over the crowd. “We are glad to host you at Winterfell for what is sure to be a joyous time. Eat, drink, and be merry,” then he raised his goblet once more and took a deep swig from it. 

“Aye, aye!” A chorus, loud and deafening, as everyone raised their cups in return. Hands were slammed against tables and raucous chatter was already beginning anew as large platters of food were quickly brought out and set down all over. 

You smiled at those around you and took a sip from your own cup, grimacing slightly at the tartness of whatever you had been served before sitting back down once more. Your mother was already pulling pieces of chicken from the platter and placing them on your plate but you took a moment to look back at the Lord of Winterfell. He was sitting again, but his eyes were unfocused as they gazed off into the distance. He took another sip from his goblet but did not engage in any conversation with those around him. He didn’t even bother reaching his hand out to eat something. He seemed so solitary, a bare tree in a wasteland, and your heart clenched in your chest. 

You turned away and back to your food, taking a large gulp from your drink before beginning to eat. Of course he would not be at his most merry, you reasoned. His son had died, his wife only just saved from the same fate, and here he was being forced to take another and act as if he was merry. You too would not be so enthusiastic if you had suffered the same fate. You shook your head free of the thoughts and put forth your best smile as the girl next to you began speaking between bites. You could be upset for your lord later. For now, your own merriment awaited. 

After much of the food had been consumed, the tables on the main floor were pushed to the sides to create a large space for dancing. A small troupe of musicians appeared in the corner and began playing a variety of jigs and servants walked around offering jugs of wine and ale. 

At first you stuck to the sidelines, bouncing on the spot and enjoying the songs, laughing as the different men and women swung each other around. You spotted many of your acquaintances dancing vivaciously and clapped along to the music. Then a boy from House Glover had asked you to join him for a dance and soon you were being passed from hand to hand, laughing jovially and getting lost to the music. A sea of faces passed you for the next hour, hands slipping through your own, feet tripping over yours, gowns and doublets and all sorts of fabric brushing against your dress. You were lost in the array. 

But before long, your feet began to ache and the heat from the dance floor became suffocating. The jostling from one dance to another created a pulse just behind your temple and you knew it was time to get away from the hall. You extricated yourself from the grip of your latest partner and stumbled out of the circle. You took a deep breath, but the air was still stale inside the great hall and you could feel your back drenched in sweat under the fabric of your dress. You snatched a cup of something from one of the tables and gulped down the sweet drink before slipping between the many people and stumbling through the doors that led out of the hall. 

You stood still for a moment and took a deep breath, allowing your heart to finally slow down and the cool air in the long hallway to gently touch your cheeks. You smiled, letting out a small, almost dazed, giggle before finishing off the contents of the cup and placing it on the floor by the door. 

Though you knew you shouldn’t be wandering around without a chaperone, especially at night, the wine and ale had made you a bit more loose and carefree. Everyone would be busy in the hall anyway except for the few servants who would be preoccupied in the kitchens. You were free to run about and explore. And you were not stupid, you would ensure your presence back in the hall before the festivities truly began to wind down and allow your mother and father to You walked out of the rear doors and perused the courtyard, milling about this way and that, poking at the bales of straw that must be used for training on a normal day. Though it was not snowing, there was the everpresent chill in the air that never left the North, especially in the evening. You shivered, shaking out your arms. Though you did not regret the choice of your dress - it had served you well in the stifling heat of the great hall - you did wish that the material was a little thicker in preparation for your spontaneous outing. You simply hoped if you walked a little more you could evade the chill. 

You meandered your way out of the gate and toward the thick line of trees you could see just behind the castle. When your eyes set upon the wood, you began walking with a little more purpose. You had a mission now, to find the heart tree in the weirwood. You had always wanted to see it, to perhaps pray and feel closer to the old gods, but your usual home did not have a weirwood to speak of and you rarely ever ventured north enough to find one. 

After you crossed the empty plane and met the tree line, you could see a clearing not far off. It was a bright night with not a cloud in sight, bathing the entire world in moonlight. You could see it shining off the white bark of the heart tree in the clearing, even the sheen of the blood red leaves. You smiled and hopped toward it, keeping a light jog despite how precariously thin your slippers were and the uneven ground. 

When you entered the clearing, you sighed long and deep. Your shoulders dropped and you closed your eyes for a moment. You could almost feel the silence press over you. It was quieter in this little spot, like not even the birds or the breeze touched it. The air was thick and still, and the leaves didn’t move. It was exactly what you needed after the buzz of the great hall. 

You moved to sit on one of the old logs placed under the cover of the heart tree’s branches. You looked up into the leaves and realised you couldn’t see far. It was a dense mesh of leaves and branches and you were lucky if you glimpsed even a touch of the sky. You thought you saw a crow or raven somewhere near the top, a flash of black in the moonlight, but no other sign of life appeared.  

You marvelled at how large the tree was. The trunk was so thick it would need four of you to be able to link arms around it, and the sudden realisation hit you that someone could be on the other side and you would be none the wiser. You stiffened for a moment but then shook your head. No, no, you were being so unnecessarily silly. There would be no one else here, not at this time of night when a perfectly jolly feast was being held not far off. No one would be as stupid or reckless as you. You huffed out a laugh and pressed your hands to your face, shaking your head before standing up and doing a little spin. 

“Do not let your own imagination poison your reality,” you mumbled to yourself. But once the seed of doubt has been planted, it takes root and you knew you would not be able to settle until you had taken one complete stroll around the tree to ensure you were alone. 

At first you saw nothing on your charge around the tree, just more empty logs and creeping roots. But at the exact spot you would not have been able to see from your own place on the other side of the tree, a shape took hold. You were stopped short, stumbling back and almost falling on your behind onto the forest floor as your slipper moved precariously over a root. You pressed a hand to your heart where it hammered in your chest. Your lips dropped open, a choking sound disturbing the quiet. You pressed your other hand to your hair, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again. 

The shape was clearer now, a man who had moved to stand, one hand still outstretched as if he could catch you before your fall despite the distance. You smiled, bashful and embarrassed as you sucked air in quickly and began to laugh. You patted your hair, chest, the skirts of your dress before shaking your head. 

“My apologies, Ser,” you giggled out, before finally opening your eyes again and looking at the man. When you looked a little closer, the smile dropped from your face. “Uh-” Your eyes widened and you fumbled as you looked around, unsure what to do. You were about to bow into a curtsy but the man across from you held up his hand with a small smile and shook his head. 

“It is I who should apologise to you, my lady,” he began in his deep voice, all rough and gravel. Your cheeks felt hot all of a sudden but you didn’t lift your head to look him in the eye. You couldn’t, you may simply cease to exist from the amount of shame and embarrassment filling you up. “I should have announced myself when I heard you approach. I suppose I was hoping I may continue to go unnoticed,” he shrugged and you glanced up. He looked almost… forlorn. His smile had fallen away and his brows had pulled a little tight. He was gazing at the heart tree once more and you felt a little better about lifting your head. You brought your hands to clasp in front of you and held them tightly as you tried to smile once more. It came out as a grimace but he still wasn’t looking at you. 

“Then my apologies again, my Lord,” you said, clearing your throat as all the earlier laughter fled you. “I will leave you to your solitude,” you bowed your head once more, “I am sure you require it more than most at this moment,” you added softly. When you glanced back up he was looking at you again, the frown softened just slightly. He shook his head and gestured to the log behind you. 

“Please, do not leave, my lady. The heart tree is not mine to covet, and I would be loath to deny someone else access to it,” and he moved to sit on one end of the log. You hesitated, watching him in the moonlight. He was still dressed as he had been at the start of the feast, but his hair was slightly more unkempt, a few strands falling in front of his face. His eyes were so grey, almost luminescent in the dark, and you scolded yourself for staring so unabashedly. 

You nodded at his invitation, smiled softly, and sat on the other end, tucking your hands into your lap. Silence fell over the two of you once more, broken only by the rhythms of your breaths and the forest. You glanced awkwardly between the tree and Cregan, trying not to look at him too long lest you be caught. A few more moments passed and the quiet became difficult to bear, your mouth itching to speak. 

“It is a grand feast you have hosted,” you began softly, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. He hummed in acknowledgement and lifted his head to look at you. You smiled awkwardly and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, before clearing your throat. “I…” you weren’t sure if you should keep speaking, say what you actually wanted to say, but Cregan leaned back and watched you curiously and you huffed out a breath before continuing. “I wished to express my condolences for your son,” you gulped, “and to pray for a speedy recovery for Lady Arra. It seems… unfair of your advisors to not allow you a little more time to mourn before speeding along… business.” You dropped your gaze to the ground and rubbed the fabric of your dress between your fingers. When you glanced back up, Cregan’s eyes had widened, his lips parted just slightly. 

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispered in return, pressing his palms to the log under him and shifting a little so he faced you more fully. “Though I must admit… I am surprised you would express such a sentiment. I believed all the ladies attending would be ecstatic at this… opportunity,” he finished with a grimace but you simply smiled conspiratorially, laughing a little before shrugging. 

“I think you may have misconstrued the emotions of their families as their own, my lord,” you teased, smirking a little. “While it’s true that many may be excited at the thought of becoming the Lady of Winterfell, I do believe others - like me - are simply excited at the opportunity to dance and mingle and be merry. And I believe all would offer their sympathies for the tragedy you have suffered. The loss of a child is a different kind of pain, I think,” you blinked softly at him as he nodded in agreement. 

Your body felt looser now and you allowed your hands to fall to the log you sat on, swaying back a little and stretching your legs out in front of you. You gazed at the heart tree once more, avoiding Cregan’s eyes as he looked at you once more. 

“So you are simply here to dance and be merry then?” He asked, a little smirk of his own pulling at his lips. Your head lolled to the side to look at him and you squeezed your eyes shut and laughed. His smile felt… precious. 

“I came with no expectations of being selected from the large array of ladies at your disposal, my lord,” you smiled sarcastically, and when he chuckled softly a sharp giggle fell from your lips and you leaned forward, almost completely bent in half before picking up your head a little. “My parents are hopeful that if I am not picked by you then I shall discover some other match among the brothers and fathers in attendance. Though I do wish to marry, I would like to spend this time in the company of friends and simply… enjoying myself,” you sighed. “Young ladies have few opportunities for this,” you added quickly, giggling again, but Cregan just watched you thoughtfully. He wasn’t smiling anymore but he wasn’t frowning either. 

You shook your head back and forth, humming a little before a cool breeze blew by and your entire spine shivered. You wrapped your arms around yourself and made a funny little ‘brr’ noise, chuckling to yourself as you exaggerated how cold you truly were. When you glanced back at him, Cregan was shuffling closer, pulling the fur from his shoulders and leaning forward to wrap it over yours. Your lips parted as you tilted your head up. He gently placed the fur over both your shoulders and you gazed up into his eyes. They were even more beautiful up close, a mix of blue and grey like rocks on a clear riverbed. His hair was more brown than black and gently brushed your shoulders when he leaned close to adjust the way it fell over you. He smelled softly of earth and cotton, a hint of sweat but not in an unpleasant way. He seemed to radiate warmth like he was the sun itself. You could feel it when you clasped the edges of the fur to your chest and your fingers brushed against the tunic over his chest. His warmth had transferred to the fur and you snuggled deeper into it. Your fingers dug into the fuzzy fur and the entire thing seemed to bathe your torso. 

When Cregan leaned back, he was sitting only a hand’s breadth away from you and you continued to watch him from your place deep in the fur. He seemed to run his eyes all over you, from the top of your head to where your pretty silver slippers sat daintily on the dirt. You looked down at yourself for a moment, trying to see what he was gazing at. You saw the edges of the grey fur, surely a large fox or even a wolf, and the beautiful shiny silver fabric of your dress that made you look bathed in moonlight. 

“Thank you, my lord,” you whispered, glancing back up at his face. A hush had fallen over the weirwood. He shuffled a little closer and your breath caught in your chest. You trembled a little even under the fur. Cregan reached up and gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, his breaths brushing over your lips and chin, his thumb brushing the place between your ear and cheek. You gulped, lips parting and then meeting again. Then he leaned back and stood from the log, clearing his throat and smiling gently down at you before looking back in the direction of Winterfell. The hush was broken. 

“Come, my lady, I shall accompany you back to the castle,” Cregan held his hand out for you and you smiled awkwardly, nodding and placing your hand in his. He gripped you gently but still engulfed your palm and fingers before letting you go and allowing you to walk just ahead of him. After the first few steps, you turned back to look at him. 

“You needn’t leave your solitude to return me to the castle, I am capable of finding my way back,” you spoke softly, smiling in encouragement, but he shook his head and smiled in return. 

“No need to worry, my lady, I think I have had enough solitude for now,” and he gestured to the path ahead of you, waiting until you turned away from him and began walking again. 

The rest of your journey back to the castle was spent in silence. He guided you inside and through the doors, but when you turned back to thank him, he had disappeared. You frowned as you reentered the great hall but quickly shook it off. The merriment had neither ceased nor decreased. The musicians played a lively jig and people filled the dance floor, a little more wobbly with drink than they had been before you left. 

You picked a place near the side of the hall, sitting at one of the tables that had been shoved to the side and sipping from a cup of ale. You smiled and swayed to the music but did not dance. You pulled the fur from around your shoulders and folded it up before putting it on the bench beside you, stroking it distractedly. When you glanced up at the head table, Cregan was back in his seat of honour and his eyes were on you. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you offered him a shaky smile, but he simply turned his head away, bringing a hand up and lightly scratching at his chin as he gazed down at his plate. You dropped your head and frowned at your lap but then shook off whatever odd feeling had taken over you for a moment and forced yourself up onto your feet. You would allow yourself one final dance before dragging yourself back to your rooms. 

You stayed true to your word, turning in circles for only one song before pulling away from the grabbing hands of the men and maidens and making your way back to your little spot at the table. You picked up the fur that had been entrusted to you and found your way to your mother and father, yelling that you would be returning to your room before heading back out of the great hall. 

You hummed as you strolled down the corridor in the direction of your chambers, swaying slightly with the music you could still distantly hear. As you rounded the corner to the final hallway, you spotted a servant walking in your direction. 

“Oh! Hello!” You flagged them down, waving toward them as they got closer. You smiled as the older woman curtsied to you before proffering the fur in her direction. “This is Lord Stark’s property, would you be able to return it to him?” The older woman looked shocked for a moment, her eyes widening just so before she schooled her expression and nodded, gently taking the fur from you. 

“Of course, my lady. Would you like a message to be passed on as well?” The woman asked, but her tone seemed heavy with something you didn’t quite understand. 

“Uh, no, no, I do not think so?” Your face contorted and you tilted your head in confusion, clasping your hands in front of you. “Perhaps a simple thank you will suffice,” you shrugged, smiling at the woman and bidding her farewell. She curtsied once more and just before she turned away you saw her eyebrows raise. Your own furrowed in confusion once more but you simply finished the journey to your rooms. 

The next day was made for the fathers and brothers who had accompanied the young ladies; a casual tourney to simply enjoy the sporting prowess of all the men who had gathered. The weather was perfect for it, clear blue skies and bright sunshine, the best of the summer without being unbearably hot. Everything had been set up on the grounds just outside the palace, a myriad of tents for different purposes dotted the wide open space. There were the large tents for the women to lounge and meet, split up into many rooms with swathes of fabric. There were the smaller, more open tents for the men to rest and ready in just beside the grounds dedicated for archery and riding and hand-to-hand combat. Even the tables from the great hall had been dragged out into the open so the evening’s feast could be held out of doors. 

A hustle and bustle filled the fresh open air. There were clinking goblets and cups, the tittering of the older ladies as they discussed their children with varying tones of love and disregard, the loud unabashed giggles of the younger children and the hushed little laughs of the maidens. There was the clank and clatter of weapons, the rush of bowstrings pulled and arrow fletching brushed, the boisterous talk of the men and the neighing of horses. Everything held an overwhelming degree of sound. 

Though the young ladies had spent a few of the morning hours in the tents, attached to your mothers and sisters, upon the arrival of noon you had ventured out to watch some of the sport being carried out. The archery had been put next on the agenda and you all gathered on the benches that had been brought out for any spectators. 

You had settled yourself down between two of the ladies you had become most familiar with over the course of the morning and began looking around for Lord Stark. When you found him nowhere, your face fell into a puzzled frown for a moment before you shook it off. Though he was known to be an accomplished warrior, perhaps archery was not his strong suit. Or perhaps he had been called away on business once more, the demands on a lord were never-ending. You didn’t have any business worrying about his whereabouts anyhow, you reminded yourself, laughing softly and pinching yourself on the wrist. 

Though the short time with him at the heart tree the previous evening had softened his image in your mind, it did not change much else. Yes, he may have endeared himself to you with his valiant offering of his fur, just like the knights and lords of the old stories told to little girls, but it meant naught. He simply was valiant, and it had nothing to do with you whatsoever. You nodded at yourself in confirmation before turning to the girl on your left and striking up a conversation about one of the men in the tent on the other side of the archery course. 

You had enjoyed yourself thoroughly bouncing between watching the tourney, sitting in the cool shade of the tent and simply strolling about with the other girls. Lord Stark had been curiously absent the entire day but when questions were finally probed, everyone was told that he had been called on urgent business but would return in time for the evening feast. And true to his word, he had returned just as the final event of the tourney had finished and the sun was setting. 

The tables had been set up as they would have been in the hall, but canopies had been set up over them dangling with candles and lanterns to light the merriment well into the night. Even bonfires had been set up around the perimeter of the tables and everyone was bathed in warmth and soft golden light. 

The feast was just as lively as it had been the night before, perhaps moreso. There was a certain sense of freedom that came with being out of doors, the land dark and endless, and it seemed infectious. The laughter was more boisterous, the yelling more raucous, and the drink more free-flowing. Everyone seemed ruddy-cheeked and silly. 

You had been as merry as you could since the sun set. You had sipped on wine (though much less than those around you) and eaten your fill. You had laughed and made others laugh, and even sung along when music broke through the chatter. But just like the night before, your limit was soon reached and you craved a few moments away from the stifling crowd. The air had begun to fill with smoke from the bonfires and though it would be warmer to stay near everyone, you desired peace more than anything else. 

You slipped away as people began mingling to talk and perhaps even start an impromptu dance in the field. Your destination was clear in your mind, and you followed the wall all the way around until you found the woods once more. You took the same path you had done before, though this time you were better equipped for it in a pair of pretty but hardy boots and a thin shawl around your shoulders. You hummed as you walked, hoping to keep whatever had unsettled you the night before at bay, and gently rubbed the material of the shawl between your fingers. 

You felt a little giddy in your stomach and tried to force the smile from your lips every time it tugged at your face. It was not anticipation, per say, that seemed to writhe in your spine. Perhaps a little innocent hope? No, you wouldn’t say that. You were simply confirming to yourself that you would be happy if Lord Stark happened to be present at the heart tree, but you would not be disappointed if he was not. You clamped your lips together, which then made your face look a little odd, before releasing a breath that made them flutter and create a funny little ‘brbrbr’ sound. 

You schooled your face as you reached the edge of the clearing. You could not see him when you first entered the circle of moonlight, and a little twinge plucked in your heart. You simply shook your head and moved further toward the tree when you heard someone clear their throat. You froze in your spot, not yelping or jumping but startled all the same. You looked in the direction it came from and walked a little further around the tree to find your lord sitting on the log you both had occupied the night before. 

He was already looking at you, a softness in his eyes you had not seen previously. He did not smile, but his face was at ease and he stood as you approached. Though custom would have dictated he reach out for your hand and press a kiss to the back of it, you stayed too far to be within reach of him. You smiled gently, twisting your fingers as you clasped your hands in front of you, hoping to disguise the way your heart seemed to soar in your chest. 

“I have disturbed your solitude twice now,” you sighed, but your smile did not match your wistful words. 

“It is not unwelcome,” he responded, and it only served to widen your smile. He gestured to the log and waited until you sat on your end before retaking his seat. He was turned toward you this time, and his eyes did not stray to the tree the way they had done the night before. Though your body pointed to the tree, you twisted at the waist to ensure you faced him as well. 

“I hope it is known that I do not intend to disturb,” you told him, brushing some hair out of your face. His chuckle was just the huff of a breath as he glanced down at his lap, but you wanted to grab it in your hands and keep it close to your chest. 

“You need not worry,” he assured as he glanced back up to lock eyes with you, “I believe your presence could not disturb me even if you attempted it.” Your face was instantly furiously hot and a shiver tingled from the back of your head down your spine as you turned to face the tree. You gulped, suddenly a little parched, and you clenched your hands tightly together in your lap. Then you huffed out a little laugh as well, airy and slightly awkward as you glanced at your lap, then the tree, then your lap again before returning your gaze to him. 

“I fear my family would not agree,” you quipped, but he only offered you a boyish smile. “It is true!” You argued, as if you must prove to him that you could be a pest if you tried. “On more than one occasion I have chattered so much that my mother has looked at me incredulously, then threatened to shove a stocking between my lips just to hush me for a moment.” 

He laughed then, deep and long, his eyes squeezed shut and his body rolling up and down. You joined at first, slightly awkward then awed and jovial as you took pride in being able to make him laugh. He rubbed at his cheek for a moment, as if his face was unused to laughter and smiling and his cheeks were beginning to ache. You uncurled slightly, stretching your legs out in front of you so their weight rested on your heels and you could swing your feet side to side. You pressed the heels of your hands against the log and leaned your weight back into them. You turned your head to look at him as his laughter calmed and his small became a little smaller. 

“I fear my suspicions have been confirmed,” he finally spoke, taking a deep breath to replenish after his bout of laughter. “Even upon telling a story of how you can be an annoyance, I still find you to be altogether too pleasant.” 

After you shot him a bright, rather mischievous, smile, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. You turned your head up to gaze through the branches again, watching the leaves twitch and sway in a phantom breeze. You slowly brought your gaze down to the tree and the face carved into it. You watched the trail of dark red sap that had already dripped through the eyes and mouth before glancing away. When you turned your head back to face him, he was already looking at you again. 

“Does something trouble you that you seek this refuge once more?” He asked in his deep gravelly voice, more hushed now. You smiled a little, a barely there stretch of your lips and shook your head. 

“No, nothing in particular,” you sighed. “I love to dance and be merry, and enjoy everything that comes with a feast,” you began slowly, hesitantly, “I do. I enjoy it very much. But sometimes… everything is suddenly too… much. Everything irks me. The lights are too bright, the people too loud, and it is intensely overwhelming.” You shrugged, looking down at your lap. “I just want to be quiet, and just… at peace for a few moments, I suppose.” You shrugged again and kept your head dipped low but flitted your eyes to look at him. His face had settled into a neutral sort of expression and you could not tell if he understood what you were babbling about. “I can return to the merriment again afterward,” you added hastily, “I do not need to escape it completely, that would be no fun either.” Cregan nodded sagely, gazing at the ground in front of him. 

He was leaning his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him in the space above his knees. He fiddled with his fingers a little and hummed in agreement. 

“I wish to do away with all these feasts altogether,” he grumbled, and your limbs suddenly went a little rigid. 

You felt that you had said something wrong, done something wrong, destroyed the peace between you somehow. Your mouth was dry but your back was suddenly a little damp with sweat. You turned your head to face your lap once more but glanced in his direction over and over. 

The two of you were silent for a few moments, your teeth worrying at your lip as you continued your quick little eye movements between your lap and the man sat to your left. You were completely still otherwise, not even swinging your feet. Then Cregan let out a long breath and shook his head where he had dropped it between his shoulders. He leaned back and straightened up, looking at you with a sad little smile that made you feel more upset than comforted. 

“That was unfair of me,” he breathed out. “If not for the feasts then I would not have had the pleasure of your company.” 

You smiled, though it twitched and your eyes felt stuck to his face. You let out an awkward little ‘heh’ of a laugh, and nodded, but Cregan was already standing and brushing down his clothes before offering you his hand. 

“Come, let us return to the merriment. Perhaps you can enjoy one more round of dancing before you truly cannot stand it anymore,” and he was smiling like he had done before, so who were you to argue? 

You daintily placed your fingers on his palm and allowed him to haul you up, but you were quick to bring your hand back to your side as soon as he released it. You clutched your shawl tightly in your hands and allowed him to lead you back on the familiar path. 

Though two nights of feasting had already passed, many more awaited. Three nights of feasting were to be followed by another for the announcement of the betrothal. The guests would stay on, for the wedding would be slightly rushed and held the week after, giving enough time for any other family members to make the travel and preparations to be made for a simple ceremony. On the third day, the men gathered themselves for a hunt. The women saw them off at the gates of Winterfell, waving handkerchiefs and wishing luck to all before simply returning to their chambers. It proved a rather boring day filled with embroidery or reading, perhaps a shared luncheon, but ultimately mostly solitary for everyone. 

You supposed it was good, it made you crave the music and dancing that awaited you in the evening. A messenger had returned just ahead of the hunting party in the late afternoon announcing that the hunt had been extremely fruitful and that Winterfell would be blessed this evening. It had enticed everyone to put on their best clothing and surely to be even more joyful at the feast. 

You kept with your theme of greys, whites, and silvers, though this dress was finer than the other two you had worn thus far. You had Dyanna thread pearls through your hair, and when you were fully dressed, twirled around in front of her with a happy little squeal. The fabric of your dress was shiny in the light and you were sure to catch many an eye in it. You felt beautiful, and it made you smile broad and unabashedly. You pressed your hands to your cheeks for a moment and closed your eyes, just allowing yourself to feel the joy before straightening up and clearing your throat. You nodded at Dyanna as if you were a soldier and schooled your expression to be slightly dimmer. Dyanna simply giggled and ushered you out to join your parents and enter the great hall once more. 

When you entered, you felt a little shy for a moment. Though it was not a sea of heads turning to stare at you, some definitely watched your approach. You simply clenched your hands together and forced yourself to look ahead, breathing slowly as you followed after your parents. As you lowered yourself into your seat, you glanced in the direction of the head table and found Cregan already gazing in your direction. You went a little wide-eyed, turning your head away sharply before feeling foolish and girlish and tilting your head to the left a little so you could see him out of the side of your eye. He was still looking at you but his eyes had softened and he was almost smiling. The same burning under your skin began and you looked ahead once more, hoping someone would sit down next to you quickly so you could be distracted with conversation. 

Your prayers were eventually answered and you became distracted for the rest of the meal, laughing and joking with those around you until your plates were emptied twice and your cups thrice. When everyone stood to move the tables and open the floor for dancing, you were loose with joy. Though you were still proper of course, all the young ladies were, you were also Northerners, and Northerners loved to dance. 

You danced the first with a blond boy who had yelled his name at you but you had not heard, and the second with a slightly older but more enjoyable partner who you were sure was the eldest brother of one of your friends. You sat out the third to catch your breath, linking arms with another of your acquaintances and sipping ale slowly. You were so jovial that you did not notice the presence of Lord Stark until he was right at your shoulder. 

A shadow fell slightly in front of you and you turned to glance in the direction of it, thinking nothing at first, before your eyes landed on the familiar locks of dark hair that settled about his shoulders. Mouth parting a little, your eyes trailed up from his neck to his face where his lips were pulled up on just one side, an innocent smile. He stood so close that his chest was practically pressed into your shoulder and you could feel the warmth he radiated on your arm. You gulped, finally gaining enough control to close your mouth, and returned a rather shocked smile. He held his hand out lightly and leaned down so close his lips brushed your ear as he spoke. 

“Would you dance the next with me?” 

You shivered. His breath was still brushing your ear and your entire body seemed to tingle from it. He was so close that you could smell him again, that soft clean cotton and earth smell that made you want to press your face to his neck and simply breathe over and over. You nodded, a jerky and slightly hurried motion, but it seemed to widen his smile and you would do it again and again just to see that happen once more. 

The previous song was already at its end and you gently placed your hand in Cregan’s grip, allowing him to lead you to the other dancers as the next began. You could feel eyes on you, could just hear faint whispers of your name and Lord Stark’s without catching anything else. You ignored it all to focus on the man in front of you. 

Though you expected him to know the dance, you did not expect him to be very graceful. He defied even that expectation, his movements lithe and clean. Perhaps he was not the most graceful, but he still moved with ease and timed it well to the music, a warrior through and through. You smiled brightly the entire time you danced, laughing with each hop or swish of your skirt, memorising the feeling of his palm against your own or the press of his hand at your waist. Your eyes glimmered in the candlelight and the pearls in your hair made you a beacon on the dancefloor. And Cregan was not the most expressive person, communicating through subtle shifts in a naturally stony expression, but he seemed relaxed and light as you danced, even smiling at your laughs and giggles. 

When the song ended, you were out of breath and clapping with everyone else. You swayed a little on your feet and Cregan reached out quickly to steady you but you politely patted his hand and stepped out of his reach. You curtsied as the other partners did and beamed at him. If you could only save this moment in the palm of your hand, weave it in a tapestry exactly as it was, you would live in it forever. 

You and Cregan parted ways and you rejoined your earlier acquaintance, gulping deeply from your cup as Cregan disappeared into the crowd. She turned to you and emphatically demanded to know everything about your dance. You did not have much to tell other than that you had enjoyed it, neither you nor Cregan had spoken during the entirety of it, and though she seemed dissatisfied with the lack of detail, she simply scoffed and shook her head before smiling and squealing a little with joy. 

You remained on the sidelines for the next two dances before rejoining for the third. There were more eyes on you than ever, but you were lost in your own joy. Though Cregan had disappeared again, he had danced with you, and only you. Another three dances later and you knew you would fall right in the middle if you did not take a step back and have a rest for a few moments. You wiggled your way through the crowd right to the edge of the hall and found a seat against one of the walls. You pressed your back to the cool stone and sighed happily, drinking from your cup and watching the dancing through the gaps between the bodies standing in front of you. Someone lightly tapped your shoulder and you turned to find a woman gesturing to the seat next to you. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” you nodded enthusiastically, moving your skirts to ensure she had enough room to sit next to you. 

The woman’s gown looked almost black in the dim light but upon closer inspection it was a very dark grey. It was of a simple fashion but the fabric was very fine, surely something expensive. Her hair was left mostly loose, a few strands pulled back to keep her face clear, and it was a beautiful brown just a few shades darker than mahogany. Her eyes were like pure honey in the candlelight but she seemed a little sickly, her pale skin reflecting the yellow light a little too well. She could not have been much older than you, perhaps closer in age to Cregan than yourself, but she seemed tired and aged around her eyes. She may have drank too much or danced too emphatically, you supposed, and you smiled genially at her. She returned it, but as you turned to face forward again, she kept her eyes on you. Perhaps she wished for a friend, you reasoned, and leaned back so you were against the wall once more and turned your head to face her. 

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” You asked, and it seemed to make her pause. She smiled, though it was small and a little false, but not in a rude way, moreso in a way that belied sadness and insecurity on her part. 

“They are very grand,” she responded. Her voice was quiet and you thanked the gods that the music and chatter was not as loud where the two of you were seeking refuge. 

“Indeed,” you responded, nodding emphatically. You felt a little awkward, laughing shakily and glancing about the room as you tried to keep the conversation alive. “I do not know if I have ever had this much fun.” She smiled at that, a little more sincere, and nodded along with your words. 

“Yes, young ladies perhaps do not get to experience such merriment often,” she added, and you smiled brightly, nodding emphatically. 

“Yes! You are absolutely right! I expressed just such a sentiment in conversation only two days prior,” and then you smiled a little dazedly as you remembered sitting beside Cregan, your heart warming like a pot slowly heating on the fire. 

“So, you are happy with Winterfell, then?” The woman asked. She seemed so serious, like the question held more weight than you could recognise, but you simply laughed and nodded, your brows a little furrowed but the confusion smoothing out quickly. 

“It has come to hold a special place in my heart, I think,” you answered with a shrug, “I will surely be sad to part with it when the time comes, but so will many others I believe.” You turned to face her a little more fully, hands clasped in your lap, “are you happy with Winterfell?” 

She seemed a little surprised when you asked, and her mouth moved as if forming words but none of them came out. She gazed off into the distance, as if seeing things you could not, but you patiently waited for her response. 

“Yes,” she answered, but said nothing more. 

You stared at her, trying not to be too overbearing with your eyes. A light sheen of sweat had appeared at the edges of her neck and her hands seemed to tremble where they rested on her lap. You gently reached out and clasped one of them, holding it gently like an injured bird in your own palm. She turned to look at you again, and you could almost see tears brimming in her eyes. You reached back and grasped your cup of ale from the bench before offering it to her. 

“Would you like some? You seem a bit out of sorts,” your voice was as quiet as hers as you spoke, and she accepted the cup from you, unfurling her hand from yours and holding the cup with all her fingers wrapped around it. You felt almost motherly in that moment, smiling to yourself as she drank from the cup before returning it to you. She thanked you quietly and allowed herself to slump back a little against the wall. Whatever odd tension had settled over the two of you quickly dissipated like fog burning away in daylight. You joined her in slumping your back against the wall and laughed at how truly unladylike the two of you seemed. 

You fell into an easy rhythm with her then, simply speaking as she listened. You made jokes that had her laughing uproariously, little observations that made her smile, or just comments that had her humming in agreement or thought. When the conversation came to a natural lull, she bid you a gentle goodbye. 

“I wish you well, dear,” she said, a small yet comforting smile on her lips. “That was perhaps the first time I have enjoyed myself since the feasts have started,” and with that she bowed a little then turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd. You watched after her for a moment before shaking yourself a little to rid the odd feeling that seemed to creep on your bones after her departure. 

Then you stood and ventured into the crowd for more dancing, because you were determined to enjoy this night. Tomorrow Lord Stark would meet with the family of whichever maiden he had chosen, and at sunset, at the beginning of the feast, he would announce the name of his bride-to-be. And though you had arrived with no hopes nor expectations, you knew that they had grown regardless upon meeting him, and you knew that it would hurt like a spike to the chest if he chose someone else. 

The day ends up being both tense and rather… boring. You spend much of it in your own room, taking both breakfast and lunch there at your small table. You flit between activities but nothing can keep you focused for very long so you spend long moments pacing back and forth and nattering to Dyanna as she sits there looking rather fearful and helpless. You interrogate her for information every time she ventures out of your rooms to fill your jugs or bring you food or water to wash with, but she always returns looking hapless and apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” she sighed when you almost jumped on her as she returned through the door, already shaking her head as she walked further into the room and deposited the jug on the table. You sighed overdramatically, throwing yourself back onto the bed and staring at the canopy over your bed. 

“Nothing at all, Dyanna? You did not bump into anyone? Did not happen upon someone whispering about the lucky maiden?” You stared at her with wide eyes, urging her to say something, but she smiled painfully and shook her head. 

“Again, I’m sorry, miss, but nothing at all. No one has heard anything. No news, no whispers, not even an inkling of who it might be.” 

“Ugh!” You groaned and shook your head, pressing your hands to your face before pulling yourself up from your bed and settling into the chair in front of your vanity table with a huff. At this point you did not even want to be chosen, you simply wanted to know who had been. You stared at the surface of the table and went quiet for a few minutes as Dyanna tidied and readied things for the evening. You were hit with a pang in your chest, like someone had hammered a gong deep inside you. 

Surely, if it was taking this long for you to hear something, that meant it would not be you. If it had been you, there would have been some sign. Though it had been agreed that the lucky maiden would not find out until the feast along with everyone else, it was also customary for the groom to discuss the engagement and arrangements with the bride’s family. And surely if that was to be upheld, then whoever was the lucky maiden would have some sort of sense of what was going to happen. Surely… surely… surely… 

But then you grumbled again and frowned at the vanity table as you became frustrated with yourself. Your thoughts had been going in circles all day, vicious spirals of wishing he would choose you, hoping he would choose you, despairing that he had not chosen you, that he would not choose you, that you were never in contention in the first place. You had cycled through so many emotions already that you felt wrung out, too tired to even bother attending the stupid feast anymore. You did not want to sit there and clap and be happy while some other maiden tittered and cried as she got to walk up to the dais and sit beside Cregan. All the while you were seething and upset and hating yourself for becoming so invested in something you could not have cared less about three days prior. 

“Come now, miss,” Dyanna soothed from behind you, walking over and gently toying with your hair. “Let’s begin readying you for this evening, and perhaps we can get your mind off this. Hm?” And she smiled so warmly and sweetly that you could not help but nod and try to smile in return. 

You were deviating from your usual theme of greys this evening, instead opting for a dress of beautiful blues. The fabrics differed slightly in shades and overlapped with each other in a way that reminded you of a river. Your hair was left mostly natural, flowing down your back with the front strands pulled back in a clip decorated with sapphires. 

You felt rejuvenated as you stood in front of Dyanna, twirling in your dress and running your hands over the fabric. She had distracted you with random stories and stupid jokes as she did your hair and laced up your dress and you slowly began to feel at peace once more. Dyanna smiled at you like an older sister, gently touching your hair and your cheeks as tears pooled in her eyes. 

“You look beautiful, miss,” she whispered and you hugged her tight to your chest. If you had Dyanna, you would be alright regardless of the outcome of the evening. 

You walked to the great hall just behind your parents. They seemed happy, smiling at each other and chatting. You tried to decipher if this was anything new, if they seemed particularly jovial this evening, but you couldn’t tell. They had been smiling since you all arrived in Winterfell and it seemed no different this evening. 

Just as you had done the previous night, you all made your way through the hall and to your seats. Upon your cursory glance of the head table, you found an extra chair had been added beside Cregan’s, waiting for whoever would take their place as his wife-to-be. You glanced in his direction as well, running your eyes over him as if it would be the last time you saw him. In a way it might be, the last time you would allow yourself to look at him with such softness and familiarity anyway. His head began to turn in your direction but you looked away before he could look at you, fixing your eyes on the wall in the distance. 

Instead of Cregan himself making the announcement, an old man you had recognised as one of his chief advisors stood with his cup held aloft. Everyone turned to look at him as he smiled brightly and ran his eyes over the crowd. 

“We have all gathered here for a special occasion,” he began sagely, “to offer the chance for our Lord to find an unmatched happiness many of us have already experienced.” You watched Cregan instead of the man, the way he almost seemed to grimace at the words. “To this end, our Lord has chosen on this fine day! The match has been agreed with the maiden’s family, and I am beyond pleased to announce the betrothal of Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Y/n L/n!” 

Applause broke out in the great hall. Thunderous applause that echoed against the very ceiling. People were standing, holding their cups and goblets aloft, jostling with each other as they cheered and jeered. Your parents were standing beside you now, your friends clapping and squealing with joy. You were ushered up from your seat, hands gripping your arms and lifting you to standing before gently touching your back to urge you forward in the direction of the dais. 

And through it all, the movement and the deafening echo, you still could not quite believe it was your name that had been called. You could see the man gesturing the goblet in your direction from his place on the dais, could see his lips moving around your name, could even hear it in your ears, but you could not quite believe it. 

Your breath was light in your chest, as if you couldn’t pull enough in and it slipped from your nose before you could truly appreciate that you had taken a breath in the first place. Your entire body felt too light for that matter, as if your limbs weren’t quite your own, only borrowed. You gulped, though your lips did not stay quite closed as you moved. Your eyes were slightly dazed and unfocused but you managed to find your way to the dais, ushered gently to the chair and sat down before you could complete two blinks. 

You turned and found Cregan smiling down at you, a small and gentle thing, but a smile nonetheless. He gently patted your hand where it had landed on the armrest and you gulped again. That simple touch seemed to settle you into your body a little, and you adjusted yourself so your posture was a little better. You nodded at him with a fluttery little smile, something that twitched at your lips and moved between too wide and too small. 

“To our future bride and groom!” The same man held his cup aloft as everyone in the great hall followed suit, yelling ‘to our future bride and groom!’ Cregan handed you your cup and you both toasted as well, though your hands were a little shaky. 

As you looked out over the great hall, elation seemed to slowly descend on you. You turned in your seat just slightly so you could see the side of Cregan’s face from the edge of your vision. Your heart seemed to sigh in your chest, as if it had been yelling for so long and it had finally been acknowledged. You felt peaceful, a little bashful, and a little chaotic with joy too. You had been hoping, quietly and only in the depths of your heart, that perhaps whatever warmth and budding something that had appeared in your chest after meeting him by the heart tree had not been solely in your own imagination. It felt so wonderful to believe that perhaps he had felt something grow between you as well. 

The rest of the evening had passed in a blissful blur. There had been many speeches of congratulations and wishes of good health from the heads of the different houses; your father had given one on joy and love that had made your eyes tear up. Food and drink had flowed freely and though Cregan did not speak to you much other than to offer you more meat or wine, he had smiled at you like you had given him a gift he could never repay and it made your heart clench happily. He had even danced with you on three separate songs, swinging you around as you laughed and smiling even brighter as you did. 

The feast had gone on long into the night and the two of you had only been released from your seats when the first of the drunkards were beginning to be led back to their rooms by their family members. Cregan had taken your hand and pressed a fleeting kiss to the back of it before you were led to your rooms. You had laughed and screamed giddily with Dyanna, yelling about how you could not believe that you had been chosen. You had allowed her to unlace your dress and help you wash but then you had taken her hands into yours and spun around the room until you were sick with dizziness. 

Dyanna was ecstatic for you, amplifying your own joy. She squealed with you, giggled with you, tickled you until you were breathless. She brushed your hair and told you of the amazing life you would live at Winterfell. Then she tucked you into your bed and left with one final congratulations on your engagement. 

You spent much of the night tossing and turning, laughing to yourself in ecstasy and imagining all sorts of scenarios of the wedding. The ravens would have already been sent out after your father had agreed to the betrothal and your brothers and sister would be on the way to Winterfell in the coming days. You could see the flowers, the dress, and Cregan. You could see Lord Stark standing in front of you at the heart tree, smiling down at you as he had done that evening. You could almost feel him kiss you, and you turned over to press your face into the pillow as you burned with a blush. 

The next day dawned a little colder and with a cloud cover over Winterfell, but you did not let it deter your joy. You woke with an airiness to your limbs that had you floating through getting dressed and breakfast. In the hours before luncheon, a messenger came knocking on your door, requesting your presence in the afternoon for a stroll with your betrothed if you pleased. You beamed at the messenger, responding with an emphatic yes before closing the door on him and calling Dyanna to attention to ready you well for the afternoon. 

You did not contain the patience required to sit in your rooms and wait for him to call on you, so you made your way outside to the courtyard early. Though Dyanna stayed close to you now as you strolled back and forth (you were not allowed to be without chaperone just yet), she had promised to keep at a distance when your Lord finally arrived. Cregan was prudent, if not a little early, and greeted both you and Dyanna before offering you his arm and beginning to lead you out of the courtyard.

“Your dress is very pretty,” he complimented as you walked under the arch, and you felt the burn of a blush under your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you responded politely, though the smile on your face was bright and clear. You glanced back and saw Dyanna already trailing out of earshot. She sent a smile your way and you beamed in return, nodding in thanks. 

“I hope I have not disrupted your day by requesting this walk,” he began politely, but you simply shook your head in response, a chorus of ‘oh no, not at all,’ following. “Good,” he sighed, smiling a little, “for there are some things I wish to tell you.” You raised your eyebrows, eyes widening just slightly before smiling a little again. 

“Do tell,” you responded simply. Your spine felt a little stiffer all of a sudden but you tried to ignore the odd sense of foreboding. 

“Well, first and foremost, I wished to express to you how happy I am in choosing you,” and the odd feeling dissipated so quickly you could not remember having felt it in the first place. You huffed out a surprised little laugh, holding onto his arm a little tighter as you walked. Your shoulders loosened and your cheeks seemed to be permanently stuck in a smile. You were about to open your mouth to respond, but he continued. “And I wished to tell you something else.” He pressed his lips together for a moment and stared at the land ahead of you as you. 

He had begun leading you around the perimeter of the castle, following the wall at a slight distance. You watched him instead of the path, trusting him to guide you and hold you steady. He seemed lost in thought, not exactly frowning but not completely without a furrow to his brow. 

“Yes?” You prompted quietly, hushed, trying not to disturb whatever fragile thing now hung in the air between you. 

“When Arra became pregnant with Rickon, we were… blindingly happy. She had struggled to get with child, and it had begun upsetting her. All she ever wanted was to be a mother. And when it finally happened, it was everything we could have wished for. The pregnancy was not without difficulties, sickness and tiredness, but the maesters said it was not unusual. Then… when Rickon arrived…” he paused, closing his eyes in a long blink before taking a deep breath in and continuing on. “When Rickon arrived, the cord keeping him to his mother was wrapped around his neck. In the chaos she began to bleed and the maesters rushed to tend to her as well. They could not revive Rickon, and he died almost as soon as he had been born.” 

You held tighter to Cregan now as a lump began forming in your throat. Your eyes felt heavy with the sadness of his tale and you bowed your head to stare at your feet as you continued your slow pace. 

“They were able to save Arra, staunch the bleeding and keep her from death’s door, but… the maesters declared her barren. Whatever had caused the bleeding had also left her unable to bear another child… it was devastating.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he blinked rapidly, eyes flitting this way and that. He breathed deeply but his voice still came out low when he continued. “I would not hear of anything until Arra awoke, and I stayed at her bedside until she was able to lift herself to sit up. Then my advisors descended upon me like vultures.” He huffed a sardonic laugh, glancing at you as if expecting you to respond with your own rye smile but you were staring off into the distance, spine perhaps a little more rigid than before but not noticeably so. “They all said something must be done, the line of succession needed to be secured. The first idea posed was an annulment. They said I could dissolve my marriage to Arra as she could not fulfil what was essential to our union but I would not hear of it. I would not even hear the idea entertained.” 

Here he paused and turned to look at you earnestly. You met his eyes, but your hands trembled. A knot began forming in your stomach like the slow turning of a spindle. Your chest was heavy and each step took more effort than the last. 

“I love Arra,” he breathed out, “I love her more than any other soul, and I could not even imagine being parted from her, let alone considering an annulment.” 

Dread was slowly settling over you like thick molasses being poured from a jug. It did not drip or run, simply poured over your shoulders and head and began sinking into your skin and bones. Your eyes became unfocused, your breath shallow, and your hands trembled so much that you had to clench them to hide it. 

“And so it was suggested that I take a second wife. I could keep my marriage to Arra undisturbed, but I would still be able to produce a legitimate heir. It felt wrong, like a betrayal of Arra. All she had ever wanted had already been taken from her, and to rip up our marriage in such a way so soon after… I consulted her, as I do with everything, and she accepted that the only way forward was for me to marry another. She said it would be alright, that she believed in my love for her, that this would not change that,” and the way he smiled made you feel sick to your stomach. 

It was unlike anything he had ever shown you. It was soft and sweet and pulled at the corners of his lips. It was as if he could see the object of his happiness in his mind’s eye. You could feel the lump in your throat thicken, almost press against the back of your tongue. Your hands felt swollen and tingly, as if your pain now coursed through their very tendons. 

“I agreed and the preparations were made, the people arrived, but I felt… hopeless. I could not imagine choosing any woman other than Arra. I looked out at this sea of maidens and saw no one I wished to marry. And perhaps I am weak but, I could not imagine condemning any young woman to something they would not understand. Condemning either of us to the company of the other when we would not be wholly in it. I could feel myself falling deeper into a pit of despair.” Then he paused and turned to you again, this time smiling with a light boyishness, almost teasing as if the continuation of the story was obvious. 

“But then I met you, the answer to all my woes in your pretty dresses and carefree attitude. Though I worried about perhaps condemning you as well, you began speaking about how you only wished for merriment. How young ladies do not get to experience it much and how you came not to vie for me but to simply enjoy yourself. And I realised that I could offer you something in return.” He was so happy as he said it, an almost juvenile excitement. “If we were to marry, you would not be confined at all.” He paused, glancing away before leaning a little closer and lowering his voice. “Laying with one another, cannot be avoided,” he said, awkward and a little halting on the word ‘laying’, “but once a son was safely born then we would both be free. You would be free. You could travel or roam or take lovers if you wished, though perhaps that would be kept quieter for your own sake,” he lowered his voice again, smirking and laughing a little. “You would never have to see me again if you so wished, but,” he laughed a little again, his smile all innocent happiness once more, “I do hope that will not be the case. I have come to enjoy your company as a friend.” He took a deep breath in and sighed, long and slow, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders. “You would not need to care for the babe either. Arra will raise him as a mother, and you will be truly, truly free.” 

You could barely keep your eyes open. You could feel the hot press of tears just behind them but you could not allow yourself to cry, not yet. You gulped over and over but the lump in your throat did not dissipate. Your chest clenched so painfully that you could almost scream with it. You wanted to press your hands to your face and scream until your throat was ripped to shreds. How could a misunderstanding of words, a simple conversation in which you had not expressed yourself quite as you had wished, lead to the destruction of all your hopes and dreams? How could everything you had once imagined, love and a family, children of your own to care for, slip away so quickly because of some noble intention and misplaced words? 

“I was wary for Arra when the festivities arrived,” he began again, face a little somber. “I did not want to cause her any more pain than what she had experienced, but when I told her of you, she seemed glad with the choice. She recommended it wholeheartedly,” and he smiled brightly, as if that was the highest compliment he could pay you but your brows furrowed quickly. 

“What?” You breathed out, clinging to this little piece of confusion to pull you out of the black spiral in your head. You still could not look at him, could not bear to turn and face him, so you kept your eyes on the air ahead of you unseeing. 

“She told me of meeting you at the feast the evening before last. You had given her the seat by your side, offered her ale from your cup and conversed with her for a while,” his face was so open, so joyful, that when you glanced at it you felt your chest clench all over again. “She said you made her laugh uproariously, that you had a good heart.” 

You were stuck in a horrible wasteland. You were frozen, incapable of doing anything but listening, yet your body wished to rip itself from his side and be sick in the dirt. Your feet were blocks attached to the rigid wood of your legs, and if he had not kept moving, kept you in motion, then you likely would have collapsed right where you stood. 

You had arrived back at the gates without realising, but you could not see anything around you. Your body was not your own but you were connected to it so fiercely. Your hands trembled, your stomach tensed, your spine was a piece of string pulled taught. You were not your own. 

Cregan gently untangled his arm from your own and stood in front of you with a beaming smile. 

“Thank you, my lady. Thank you for being the answer to all my woes,” he breathed out. Your head nodded for you, listening to him bid you goodbye but not returning it. He walked back into the courtyard, head held high, where one of his advisors waited patiently to guide him back to whatever business awaited him. 

You were frozen to your spot, like winter had arrived in one gust of wind and left you stuck there. It felt as though there were a pair of hands deep in your chest, fingernails digging into your heart and slowly scratching at it, tearing cuts into it then digging their fingers into the cuts and ripping whole pieces of it away. Your eyes began to burn with the tears you had held back for so long and you swayed dangerously. 

You could hear his words over and over, could hear him telling you he loved Arra, could hear him saying how you had been the answer he was looking for. All because you had not been clear when you said you wanted to enjoy the festivities. You could see the future you had always so craved, a husband who loved and cherished you, a house of your own to organise and run, a troupe of little children to call your own and raise, slipping away like ice into a river. All because he had misconstrued your words upon meeting you, because you had been kind and carefree, because you had not realised the identity of the woman you had met. A series of events created on pure chance and carelessness had led to you losing… everything. 

You began looking around for Dyanna, your breath short and shallow as it punched out of your chest. She was quick to return to your side, grabbing your arm as you leaned all your weight onto her. 

“Take me back to my rooms,” you whispered, eyes dazed and haunted. 

When you had returned to your rooms, you had sent Dyanna away. She had tried to inquire why, had tried to suggest that she would simply help you with your laces, but you had shut the door in her face and secured the beam to lock it. You were dazed, walking into the room and standing by your mirror. 

As the silence settled over you, only the sound of your own breath echoing back to you, you became a flurry of movement. You ripped at the laces on your back until they were undone and you could push the offending dress off your arms. You were heaving your breaths now, loud and painful like that of a plague victim. They bordered on sobs, crushing as they filled and left your chest. You were haphazard in your motions, stepping out of the dress and clambering onto your bed in your thin cotton shift, the sleeves bunching a little at your elbows. 

You pressed your face to your pillow and began to cry like you had never cried before. Your sobs bordered on screams, your tears were like little rivers down your face, pouring without restraint. You had never felt pain like this, the kind that clawed at your throat and made you feel both limp and rigid. You curled around one of your pillows, another soaking up the tears that wet your cheeks. Your mind was too loud, yelling yet incoherent, and you could do nothing but feel it all. 

You did not know how long you cried, only that eventually your sobs turned to blubbers and then huffed breaths. You teetered on the edge still, one reckless thought and you would dissolve into tears once more, but your eyes were finally blinking open. You moved your mouth from where it had pulled back as you cried and gently massaged your cheeks. You wiped your eyes on your pillow cover and sat up until you were pressed against the headboard, your knees pulled up to your chest. You pressed your face to your knees and allowed your hair to fall around you like a curtain, hands clenching tightly to your shins. 

You could only think of the dread you had been destined to now, wrung out by the force of your crying. You could not break the engagement. It had already been announced to everyone, your father had already agreed. It would bring shame and ruin on the family to refuse it now, and you would not have any suitors in the future. Though you would be the one breaking it, everyone would wonder what had been wrong with you, what you had done to end a dream of an opportunity. 

And even if you did tell your mother and father what Cregan had told you, what you had been doomed to, you knew they would tell you to stop being so childish. To marry for love was foolish, and to refuse the best of matches for such a notion was beyond stupidity. They would tell you to open your eyes and look at what a gift you had received. The Lord of the North had chosen you to be his bride. If nothing else, that counted for something. Though you may be only a broodmare, you would still carry the title of Lady of Winterfell. You would live a lavish life, one the other maidens who had attended could only dream of now. You were focusing too much on your pathetic heart and not on the blessings right in front of you. 

You considered ending your own life. You could see a length of rope and a tree branch, or perhaps a dagger and slit wrists in the bath. But you could not do that to Dyanna, could not bring that shame on your family in your wake. 

When Dyanna returned to ready you for the evening, you were slow to unfurl from the bed and allow her in. For a long moment you considered simply pulling the covers back over your head and pretending the world outside your chambers did not exist. Though you could not have been able to hide for long, you would not have had to face the world quite at that moment. Despite the war in your head, you had shuffled your way to the door and allowed her in. 

Dyanna gasped at the state of you, touching your face gently as she guided you to sit at your vanity. She pressed soft fingertips to your cheeks and your puffy eyes, and when she cupped your face in her hands you began to cry once more. 

“Oh darling,” she breathed out, pulling you close and caressing the top of your head. 

You began blubbering out the story, telling her everything Cregan had told you. You could not keep it in, could not wallow in the sadness on your own any longer. She listened closely to what you told her then cradled your head to her chest. When your cries subsided once more she hushed you gently, wiping your tears with her sleeve and pulling away. She did not say anything in response to the tale you told her, simply wiped your face with a wet cloth and held a cold metal pitcher first to one eye then the other. She told you to hold it and keep it against your eyes and began readying your dress. She helped you step into it and laced it up before sitting you down and doing your hair. 

You looked up at her in the mirror like a lost child, all wide eyes and trembling lower lip, but she simply smiled in sympathy and told you to keep straight or your braids would be crooked. You took deep breaths as she worked, closing your eyes and trying to steady yourself. You would need to face everyone now, would need to face Cregan. He was not aware of the turmoil within you, of the way he had cursed you without meaning to. You almost began to cry once more but shook your head to rid yourself of the thoughts (to a flurry of tuts from Dyanna). No, you could face this. And that was what you told yourself for the next week. 

The week leading up to the wedding became a blur that you could not remember when you looked back on it. You seemed to float through it like a cloud in an otherwise clear sky. You smiled when necessary, and spoke as you had been taught to since childhood, but you couldn’t quite remember why you smiled or what you said. You gripped Cregan’s hand when necessary and laughed when needed, but you were not quite present. 

During the day you stayed confined to your bed, curled around a pillow with the covers pulled up to your nose so only your eyes gazed out blankly to the wall. Dyanna tried to coax you out, to engage you with any little thing she could, but to her every inquiry you simply hummed and stayed in bed. You told her to handle everything, to make whatever choices needed to be made, and to leave you in your bed until the last possible moment. 

When the servants and vendors arrived for the wedding, Dyanna met them at the door and told them you were not feeling your best and had taken to your bed for the day to try and curb any illness before the wedding. She tried to bring the choices to you, but you did not even bother raising your head to look at her. In the end she did make all the decisions, from the fabric and style of your wedding dress to the dessert that you wished to be served during the feast.  

And every evening in the time leading up to the wedding you would rise like a ghost from the grave, allowing Dyanna to move you this way and that to prepare you for the feast before sending you out to the great hall. There your performance began and ended. It was good enough to convince, but fragile. If one looked too close, they would realise that your cups stayed full to the brim bar a few sips, your plates remained as full at the end of dinner as they had been at the start, one or two small bites gone, and your gaze, once bright and soulful, was now vacant. 

Cregan seemed happy enough to leave you to your devices during the day, not a visit or a whisper to be heard of, though he seemed happy to see you upon your arrival to dinner each evening. Your parents worried over your withdrawn state but you forced Dyanna to ease their worries and ensure all dogs were put off the scent of your new demeanour. It was only when your brothers and sister arrived did you seem to gain some life back. 

Dyanna forced you to leave your bed during the day to welcome their arrival, pulling you from its clutches despite your protests and dressing you in a pale pink gown, leaving your face clean-washed and natural. Every step you took to leave your room felt weighed down by tar but upon stepping out in the fresh air you felt slightly rejuvenated. A cold breeze blew through Winterfell and brought the earthy scent from the woods to its doorstep. You took deep slow breaths and filled your lungs desperately as you watched the carriages come to a stop. Even the whinnying of the horses felt new and soothing, and the sight of the sky made your eyes feel slightly more alive than they had done before. 

You could feel Dyanna watching you carefully from your side, and you turned to offer her the barest hint of a smile, nothing more than a twitch of your lips, but it seemed to put her at ease, a little sigh of relief puffing from her lips. Her shoulders seemed to relax as she slumped a little where she stood and a pang of shame hit you in the chest for all the turmoil you had put her through. 

Your brothers and sister piled out of their carriages and huddled around you in a tight hug, yelling their congratulations and well wishes. You allowed them to jostle you in their arms, press kisses to your hair and gaze at you with teary smiles like you were their first child and had grown rather fast. You could not bear to ruin their fun but their happiness seemed to dig into the wound in your heart and rip it open afresh, the painful blood pouring out into your veins once more. You smiled and allowed them to heap their joy onto you, but tears burned at your eyes and you were forced to pass them off as overwhelming joy. 

You had not realised Cregan’s presence until your siblings were unwinding their arms from around you. You could see him watching you all with a soft, wistful, smile and it made your chest pulse with pain. Your siblings moved to greet him, clearing their throats and dimming their expressions a little to appear more dignified. He was sincere, proud in a polite manner as he shook hands and smiled warmly. You kept your distance, waiting with your back to the carriages and watching them all interact. A sudden wave of cool tiredness washed over you and without another word you disappeared into the castle, back into your bed and slipping under the covers. 

You were a little more returned to life as the wedding drew nearer. Your sister was quick to invade your space, pulling you off to explore Winterfell or aid in the preparations. Though she had noted your now-muted personality, she did not pry and simply set to dragging you about with her. 

The day of the wedding you were woken a little earlier than usual. Dyanna helped to feed you little bits of fruit until you felt sick on your new shrunken appetite before leading you to a steaming bath. She allowed you to soak for a long while, until the water was just shy of tepid, then began scrubbing you and rubbing different oils and lotions on you until you smelt like a fresh flower garden. As you began drying after your bath, she tried to feed you once more but you turned your head away at every attempt. 

Though you had become quiet since your betrothal, you were particularly silent this morning, not even bothering to open your mouth for yeses and no’s. Your gaze was vacant as you stared at the wall and your breaths were so soft you almost seemed like a corpse walking. Dyanna worried over you, gently patting your cheeks and stroking your hair and trying to urge you to say something, anything, but you would simply blink up at her for a few moments before returning to your pondering. She prayed silently to all the gods, old and new, that you would reappear for the wedding ceremony. 

Dyanna laced you into a beautiful gown of white and silver, making you look like a princess bathed in snow. It was long enough to touch the floor in front of you and had a short train. Your slippers matched and she adorned you with pearls where she could, dripping through your hair and hanging from your neck and ears. You looked ethereal, a creature of the snow that had appeared from the weirwood, a true spirit of the North. 

“You will be a vision he cannot resist,” Dyanna whispered in your ear as you both gazed into the mirror. But all you did was nod and allow her to continue brushing a soft rouge on your lips and cheeks. 

Though the sky was overcast, the clouds were not thick with rain and simply cast a grey light over the world. The procession was beautiful, a bouquet of snowdrops in your hands as you walked toward the heart tree. Your breaths were shallow in your chest little puffs that barely moved your body. You cast your eyes on the heart tree, where it all began, and you felt something twinge deep inside you. 

You wanted to scream, to throw the bouquet from your hand and dig your nails into the tree bark and rip at the face that had been carved there. Why had the gods cursed you in such a way? Why had they instilled the desire for love and companionship in you, pointed your heart at Cregan Stark and dangled a future of perfection before your eyes before ripping everything away with his confession? 

You looked at him, standing just under the cover of the tree and watching you walk to him with a small smile on his face. Hot tears slipped from your eyes and you could almost see every face in the crowd beginning to frown. You tried to school your expression, even to smile, but it was watery and unconvincing and almost made your sadness more apparent than the neutral face you had kept before. You heard murmurs of how you were most likely crying from happiness, or the sadness of leaving your home and family behind, and you hoped others would listen and excuse you. 

You stopped in front of Cregan and took a long look at his face. He seemed at peace, and he was smiling at you as if he was truly happy to be attending this wedding. You stared at the easy set of his cheeks and lips, at the piercing quality of his blue eyes and the neat gathering of his hair off his face. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to pummel his chest and slap his face and scream and cry, ask why he would do this to you? Why you? But you also saw the warmth, the youth in his face and the innocent joy and it made you want him to wrap his arms around you, to press gentle kisses to your cheeks and lips and tell you that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved you and only you. 

But then the ceremony began and you could do nothing but repeat the words and bind yourself to him. You could do nothing but close your eyes and let the tears cascade freely as he gently pressed his lips to yours, a fleeting barely-there kiss that made your face heat up and your heart clench in your chest, all to the backing of loud cheers and whistles. 

The wedding was particularly difficult to get through for you. It would have been easy if it was like all the other feasts, but this one required you to be aware, refused to allow you to unfocus your eyes and wander distant lands in your own mind. 

Throughout dinner a parade of people came to the table to congratulate you and Cregan. It seemed the head of every family had lined up, and you had to treat each one with respect and felicity, smiling and nodding in thanks, asking after their wives and children and enduring each long-winding story they pulled out just to have said they spent a little longer in the company of the newly weds than others. You supposed this parade was good in a sense, you were not keen to eat much and it was a good excuse to have barely touched the food. 

Then came the dancing, particular songs requested of the musicians and cheering and urging from the crowd for you two to join them. Cregan smiled and huffed out a bashful laugh before standing and offering you his hand. And you could not refuse lest everyone begin to question the sanity of the bride, so you let him guide you from the chair and onto the dance floor for a slow and gentle son that required he pull you close into his body. 

His arms wrapped around you as you two swayed to the music but you kept your eyes clenched shut. You thought if you kept them closed you could ignore everything around you, transport yourself somewhere else, but all it did was highlight how close he was, how his breath felt brushing over your cheek and neck and the fresh clean smell of him, the warmth he emanated. 

“You are quiet tonight,” he whispered by your ear, pulling back a little to run his gaze over your face. He looked almost concerned and it made your innards pang with pain. You didn’t reply at first, continuing to dance and cast your eyes over his shoulder rather than on him. 

“Just… in thought, I suppose,” you whispered in return, shrugging your shoulders and relaxing a little into the motion of the dance. He nodded and his face opened as if something was dawning on him. He leaned closer again as he spoke. 

“If you are worried about… later this evening, you need not be. I will be gentle, and perhaps… you may feel some pleasure,” the way the words caressed your ear made you shiver. If you closed your eyes you could almost pretend that he was an eager husband, one who loved you deeply and cared for you beyond belief, one who wished to make the bedding pleasurable for you. But your eyes were open and staring at a lit sconce on the wall, and dread poured over you like ice cold water. 

Though bedding ceremonies were not much cared for in the North, you knew your purpose, and you knew he wished to fulfill it soon. Upon the completion of the dance you were both permitted to return to your seats for a little while longer. You were called away first by your maids, slipping out of the great hall to a chorus of cheers and jeering. 

Dyanna led the charge, welcoming you to your new bedchambers before dismissing the others. She could see the heartbreak in your eyes, the apprehension and pain mingling like a dose of poison. She helped you change into a pretty white nightgown, rubbed scented oils on your wrists and behind your ears, then sat you down at your new vanity to brush your hair. Her hands were soft and soothing and you let yourself relax in the seat, closing your eyes and taking slow deep breaths. 

“You will be alright darling,” she whispered, gathering your hair before fanning it over your back. “It will be done in a flash, nothing to remember or dwell on. You’ll close your eyes a moment, then it will all be gone. It will all be alright,” she muttered continuously, stroking and brushing your hair as tears dripped from her eyes. 

You were still at the table with Dyanna when Cregan entered. You opened your eyes and she began hastily wiping at her cheeks as the door revealed him. He had abandoned his fur and jacket, dressed in a plain tunic as he strolled in. He smiled at you and Dyanna, gentle and kind. 

“Do not rush on my account,” he told Dyanna, pressing a hand to his chest, and he settled himself on the edge of the bed, palms at his sides. 

“We had just finished,” she responded, smiling at him before turning back to you. She bent to grab the brush from the table, and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your head. Your eyes met in the mirror and she smiled in encouragement before straightening and leaving. 

You stayed in your seat for a moment, closing your eyes and stealing yourself before blinking them open and standing, turning to face him. He was watching you closely, eyes darting all over you as you came closer and closer. You stopped in front of him, an arm’s reach away. 

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, his eyes soft and concerned. You nodded, instinct, and waited for his next move. He reached out and gently grasped both your arms, bringing you closer until you were tucked neatly between his legs, your hands brushing the tops of his thighs and his face level with your neck, only a hair’s breadth away. You gulped, hands shaking, and his breaths brushed warmly over your neck, shivers trembling down your spine. 

“It…” he whispered, voice calm and confident, lips almost brushing your neckline, “can still be pleasurable,” he breathed, “and I would not dare to put you through unnecessary pain.” 

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed and throat moving as you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth. Your insides were wrought in chaos, desperate yet pained. It seemed regardless of anything your pleasure would always go hand in hand with your pain. 

He ran his hands up your arms to your shoulders then down to your elbows before gripping your waist on either side and pulling you even closer until you were pressed right to his chest. His chin rested between your breasts, pulling your neckline down a little, and he began pressing soft kisses to the skin just above it. They were soft, a little damp as his lips opened a little, and he trailed them slowly up to your neck. You bent your head a little so he could kiss up to the spot just behind your ear, pure instinct in your veins. Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, grasping tight to his shirt. 

He wrapped his arms a little tighter around you, pulled you down a little so he could trail his kisses over your cheek. He paused by the corner of your mouth, watching your face for a moment before continuing on the other side, avoiding your lips entirely. You seemed to tremble in his hands like a leaf in a storm. 

Cregan pulled back a little, allowing you to only stumble back a step. He watched you, eyes ablaze, as he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his bare chest and stomach. You marveled at him, gulping at the sight. He was broad and thick with muscle, gentle ridges defining each one. You could see his chest move up and down with each breath and a little trail of hair led over his stomach and disappeared beneath the line of his trousers. 

You reached out and gently placed your palm flat against his chest, feeling the warm skin and firm muscle, the rise and dip of his breath. Your own was shaky in comparison to his steady (though slightly hurried) pace, and you stepped a little closer once more. 

Cregan reached down and began gathering the skirt of your nightgown in his hands, collecting it in his palms and slowly lifting. He kept his eyes on your face, waiting for any fear, any refusal, but you only gazed at him in return, pupils blown wide and lips parted. He stood with it, now looking down at you as you raised your arms and allowed him to lift it over your head. Your hair became a little ruffled, strands bent and sticking up in places, but he ran a gentle hand over your head, and smoothed it all down. You shook as the cold air touched your bare skin, bumps raising along your arms and your nipples pinching into tight peaks. 

He finally trailed his gaze downward, raking over your breasts and stomach, your thighs and the shadowed place between them. You felt the intense desire to cover up, to step away and pull the nightgown back over you, but you were also frozen, in thrall. His gaze seemed to touch you with heat, raking fire along every inch of skin. You wanted him to devour you, to cover every inch of you with his own body until you became a part of him. 

He reached up and cupped a breast in his hand, stroking the flesh reverently with his thumb. You shivered, putting all your effort into staying standing. His thumb grazed over your nipple, the natural roughness pulling it down a little. He did it again, then once more as you tingled deep in your core and your breaths came out a little shorter, a little punchier. 

He pulled back and undid the laces on his trousers, not even bothering to gaze down at himself. His fingers pressed under the hems and he shoved them off his hips, dropping them and pushing them to the side with his foot. You let your gaze drop, trailing down from his stomach. 

He had strong thighs and calves to match the rest of him, corded with muscle. His cock stood between his legs, red and thick, touching at his stomach. You swallowed the saliva coating your tongue and cheeks, swallowed the urge to reach out and touch him and learn what it felt like. 

He moved to wrap his arms around you, one curling around your back and pressing you close to his bare torso while the other gripped you at the waist. His hair fell on your shoulders, tickling your chest. You gasped, the feeling of his warm skin against your own made you hot inside out. He turned and lay you out on the bed, pulling away just enough so you could shuffle back further until your head met the pillows and your feet no longer dangled over the edge. He loomed over you now, gaze hungry and a touch frantic. 

You licked over your lips, chest heaving and head dizzy, and your hands curled into fists in the bedsheets. He dropped to press kisses over the tops of your breasts, his hand running down the side of your body and over your thighs. He separated them as he enveloped a nipple with his mouth, listening to your sharp gasp and soft whimper. 

His fingers were gentle as they ran up your slit, collecting the little bit of slick that was already beginning to coat you. He pressed in at the top, rubbing a little portion of you that made you twitch and clench all over. He rolled it a little then carried down, gently probing until he managed to twist a single finger into you all the way to the hilt. 

You were clinging to his shoulders now, running your hands over the smooth skin as you clenched your eyes shut and allowed yourself to simply feel everything. His hair, still tied back, fell over his shoulders and touched your chest. He pushed and pulled the finger inside of you, beginning a rhythm that made your legs tighten where they lay. He continued to lavish kisses over your breasts and neck, his breaths becoming heavier against your ears. 

Then he brought two fingers together, hushing you gently as you moaned at the sting and stretch. Your hands clung a little harder to his shoulders but he simply mouthed at your cheeks, a little ‘sh, sh,’ against your skin. He returned to the same rhythm, the in that pressed as deep as he could go, the out that left the very edges of you brushing the tips of his fingers. 

It was such an odd yet addicting feeling, the rub of him inside you, the texture of yourself finally being discovered. Something within you seemed to be lifting with each movement, cresting like the journey up a flight of stairs. Just when you felt it, the edge, a light airiness beginning to touch your limbs and your mouth trembling with noise, he pulled his hand away from your core. 

“Sh, sh,” he mumbled again, soothing you after the surprised little ‘mph’ left your lips. 

He braced the hand that had just been between your legs beside you, his face pressed to your cheek as he shifted his weight so he was almost laying over you. He reached down first with one hand to lift your thigh and sling it over his hip before doing the same with the other. You could feel him against you, the weight of him on your stomach, hot and firm. The warm skin over his ribs and hips was pleasant to your inner thighs and you wished he would lower himself a little more, rest his chest against your own, suffocate you with himself. 

He pressed his elbow onto the bed as he manoeuvred a hand between your bodies, notching himself at your entrance. You grimaced a little at the feeling, at the way your core began to stretch around him as he pushed in. Your hand came up and clung to his bicep, your nails digging in a little. You huffed out a breath, eyes clenched shut. 

You could feel his nose digging into your cheek, his lips moving softly on your jaw. You breathed out with a little sound, something between a whimper and an airy sigh, as he pushed fully inside you. His hand returned to the other side of your head and he grunted, pulling his face away as his shoulders curled in slightly. He was panting as you were, eyes fluttering as he clenched them shut, hips trembling and twitching. 

He waited until your breath evened out a little before moving again, a slow pace of back and forth that made you clench and tremble, keen a little against his ear. He was grunting, thick sounds leaving his throat and muffling against your neck where he had dropped his head. Each thrust was a deep, rolling, thing that pressed his stomach to yours. Your skin, slick with sweat, rubbed against his, your nipples pressed to his chest. 

He gripped your waist, moving a little faster now, a little harder, his mouth pressing to your neck, open and boiling hot. You twitched against him, around him, clenched your thighs tighter over his hips. Your moan lifted into the air like a cloud, settling above the two of you. His head drooped further until his lips pressed to your shoulder. 

Everything was rushing now. His hands were on your thighs and he pressed them tight to his sides, digging his fingertips into their soft flesh. His grunts were sharper, occasionally melting into moans when you clenched around him. His skin was burning hot and it set yours on fire everywhere he touched you. 

The feeling was back, the pressure deep in your core that made your mouth open a little wider, made the hot tingling become a frenzy. Your face contorted into a tight expression, your entire body seemed to tense up with it, to chase that crescendo that was fast approaching. You moaned a little louder, a little higher, and Cregan seemed to grunt in response, moving his hips even faster and harder. 

And it hit you like a flower blooming with the speed of a horse, a little ball of hot pleasure in your core unfurling until its edges touched the very edges of you. You could see waves of light in the black oblivion behind your shut eyes, could feel your limbs tremble and shake without restraint. 

And Cregan was groaning loudly, his hips stuttering. He pressed his teeth into your shoulder, not quite a bit but with enough pressure to leave little indents in your skin. His hair, long dark strands of mahogany brown, draped over your neck and chest, touching the bed under you. He heaved loudly, shaking and pressing himself harshly to you. His arms dropped and he rested the entire weight of his body on you. You could feel the warm gush inside you, the twitching of his cock and the new hot slide coating it. 

You closed your eyes and let your limbs relax against the bed, arms spread out and legs tilting slightly away from his body. You felt wrung out, every muscle used like it had never been before. A warm glow seemed to surround you, a soft throb that touched your skin and mind and heart. 

Everything felt… real. The bed under you was real and your own. The pleasure ebbing had been real and your own. The fatigue now dragging your limbs was real and your own. The man on top of you was real and… your own. You kept your eyes closed, let your hands rest flat on the planes of his back. 

“My husband,” a whisper of a voice in the deepest recesses of your mind, soft and alluring, and you let it be. 

The two of you stayed like that until the sweat was cooling on your skin and the stickiness between you became uncomfortable. He shifted, putting all his weight on one of his arms as he pulled himself from you. You made a little sound of discomfort, but it was short-lived and soon he was rolling onto his back beside you. He shuffled higher so he was half sitting up, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you turned onto your side and curled a little on yourself. 

You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to ruin the moment or rip yourself from your fantasy. He let out a breathy huff of a laugh, his body moving with it, but you didn’t let yourself be tempted to open your eyes. 

“I cannot say that I did not enjoy this,” he breathed out, dipping his head down to look at your face, at the tousled mop of hair that lay on your cheek and pillow. You simply hummed. 

You basked in it, in the tiredness and his presence. He moved to pull the covers over you, tucking them under your arm and up to your chin before settling once more. He was a warm and sturdy presence in front of you, and you felt lulled into peace. Though sleep did not touch you, something akin to it seemed to settle over you, stilling your arms and slowing your breath. 

After many minutes had passed, you felt him begin to slip out from under the covers to the side of the bed. You did not move, keeping your eyes shut and feigning sleep. When you could hear his feet on the floor, you cracked your eyelids open just enough that your lashes still draped dark edges over your vision. You watched him pull his trousers on, lacing them up softly. His head began to turn in your direction and you shut your eyes once more, hoping your sudden stiffness was not obvious. When you heard the rustle of fabric once more, you cracked open your eyes and watched him pull his shirt over his head. He pulled his hair out from the collar, then he turned and headed for the door, opening it slowly and softly, then shutting it with just as much care behind him. 

You stared at the door for a long time with your barely open eyes, at the patterns in the wood and how it did not open again. You felt the heaviness settle over you once more like a familiar blanket. You felt the cold seep into your bones.  And you felt the despair and heartache curl around you like lovers. 

As time passed, Dyanna watched you become a ghost. For the first fortnight you wandered awkwardly around the castle, now silent without all the guests, hoping you could find something to do. But at every turn it was announced that Lady Arra ran the household, that Lady Arra had everything under control. Each time you asked, everyone from the cook to the sweeper smiled brightly and told you that everything was being taken care of and you had no need to worry, that you could do whatever you wished. You simply did not know what you wished to do. 

After so many buffeted attempts you took to your bed again, long hours spent sleeping or staring off into the distance like you could see lands far away. Dyanna despaired for you all over again, having half a mind to go yelling at everyone in the godforsaken castle to treat you better, to find something to make you feel useful, but she could only sit in your room with you, trying to convince you to leave your bed. 

You did eventually get out of bed again at Dyanna’s urging, allowing her to dress you and take you for a walk in the fresh air. It did wonders as it had done before, though perhaps did not make you as enthusiastic as the first time, and became a habit thereafter. Long walks around the castle, in the courtyard, past the walls and into the weirwood, deep in the thicket past the heart tree became your norm, soon without Dyanna to accompany you. 

Dyanna tried her best to busy your other free hours, handing you embroidery projects or stitching until your room was full of tapestries and new dresses and more socks and stockings than any woman could have need for. Dyanna even convinced as many people in the household staff to give her clothes for mending so she could keep you busy and within the castle, under her careful watch. 

You did not seem to gain your life back, even after a month had passed. In fact, you seemed to sink further and further and further into your desire for solitude and rest despite Dyanna’s efforts. She could see the dark circles develop under your eyes despite the constant sleep, could see the how vacant your once glimmering eyes had become when you did deign to open them. 

In all this time, Cregan continued to bed you once a week. The maesters had urged him to bed you as often as possible to ensure you would become pregnant as soon as possible, but he never came to your chambers more than once a week. 

He continued to be gentle the first few times, asking if you were alright before he began pulling your clothes off and laying you on the bed. But eventually the way he bedded you depended on his mood. Sometimes he was a little more frenzied, throwing his clothes off and rushing you through it, pushing your legs higher, thrusting faster. If it had been a difficult day, or something had angered him, he sometimes set you on all fours in the middle of the bed and rutted into you from behind like a beast, pulling your hips against his own, almost ripping your nightgown as he hauled it off you. Other times he did not bother even removing your clothes, simpling unlacing his trousers, pulling your nightgown up to your waist, and bending you over the edge of the bed as he mouthed along your spine. 

He sometimes lay with you afterward, caressing your arm and back, but as time wore on he left quicker and quicker after the act. Not once in all the nights did he kiss you on the mouth. 

And you allowed yourself to enjoy it, to enjoy the pleasure and pretend for a moment that he was your husband, that he loved you or was desperate for you. It was your one return to life each week, your one salvation. But each time the moment ended and the black veil of despair that seemed to hang over your eyes slipped back down and returned you to its clutches. 

Outside the bedroom, you rarely stumbled upon him. An occasional meeting in the halls occurred and he would smile and ask after you, but you would converse no longer than a minute or two and then he would be on his way again.

In the first month, him and Arra had invited you to dine with them one night, and Dyanna had urged you to attend. You had put on one of your prettier gowns, hoping to somehow enjoy yourself despite the cloying sadness in the air about you, but the moment you entered the room you knew it was not to be. 

They had been seated already at your arrival, chairs pulled close together as they waited for you. You were sat down across from them, and the divide was clear. They were husband and wife, so deeply in love that they kept close even at the dinner table, and you were… an intruder. 

It was obvious that all three of you were immensely awkward, smiling and greeting each other, but where you would have tried to make conversation in the past, now you simply stared down at the table with a rather vacant expression. Arra attempted to converse with you, bringing up topics that she thought might interest you, but you could barely nod let alone form a string of words to let slip from your mouth. 

It sickened your heart to watch them interact, to watch them smile warmly at each other, touch each other’s hands, occasionally whisper in each other’s ears like you weren’t even there. You sat silently for a few moments and watched them, wondered what their motive had been in inviting you to supper. Was it guilt? Did they possess the awareness that you had been shunned from life itself? You could not begin to imagine their intentions. You were barely able to take a few sips of your broth, and within the hour you had stood abruptly from your chair claiming illness. You had not let them get in a word of concern, simply curtseying by the table then turning on your heel and rushing out. You had denied any and all attempts of friendship from then on. 

And Cregan seemed content to allow you to withdraw. He posed naught a single question to you on your long disappearances, on your lack of a presence. He simply continued bedding you and leaving you to your own devices, and you had nothing to say to change that. 

One afternoon, three months into your new life, you left your room for your daily walk. You had slept longer than you had wished to, and so were delayed on venturing out for your escape from the imposing walls of the castle. On your way through the winding halls you had stumbled upon a scene you wished to purge from your memory. 

At the other end of the hallway, lit perfectly by the windows, Cregan and Arra stood embracing. He towered over her, arms curled around her waist as she gently pet his chest and smiled up at him like she contained a beam from the sun. He was returning it, a more bright and loving expression on his face than you had ever seen before, and he bent his neck to press a soft kiss to her mouth. 

You turned on your heel and found another path out of the castle. You could only tell yourself to walk, urge yourself to take another step, put one foot in front of the other. You could not let your mind wander to anything else, not to the scene nor to the direction of emptiness that your life had taken. Your eyes seemed almost glazed over, a dazed expression making your face slightly slack as you continued on your path. 

It was all familiar to you now, the path through the courtyard and out of the gates, around the castle wall and into the woods, now covered with a late summer snow. You did not see what was ahead of you, but your muscles knew, a higher lifted foot here, a step to the side there. You passed the clearing of the heart tree, the first mile of woods, and continued on. You simply put one foot in front of the other, simply kept walking, it was all you could do. 

You did not know how long you walked, how far. You did not perceive that the sun was beginning its descent and the world was becoming colder around you. You did not understand that the darkness had set in and that blinking reflective eyes watched your path through the woods. You only stopped when you saw a fallen tree and felt the soft brush of snowflakes against your hair and eyelashes. You would sit on the tree for but a moment, just rest for a moment, only a moment… 

You looked up and saw Cregan, astride his horse and holding a lit torch aloft. The woods were black in the dark around you. You blinked the snowflakes from your eyes and watched him jump hurriedly from the horse and rush to you. He held the torch aloft, turned and yelled something, but you couldn’t quite hear anything. He was kneeling in front of you now, face contorted in concern. His mouth moved, but you couldn’t quite hear anything. His brows furrowed further, his lips a little more frantic, but you couldn’t quite hear anything. 

“Huh?” You breathed out, trying to decipher his words, “I was just resting…” Your lips didn’t seem to form properly around the words but you were sure you said them, if a little mumbled. 

He continued staring at you, eyes wide and brows pulled close together. His lips turned severely down and his jaw was slack, but you simply continued staring. 

He rushed back to his horse and pulled a large fur off its back, storming back over and draping it entirely on you. It engulfed you, black and soft as it covered from your head to your knees. He shoved the torch into the ground and used both hands to pull the fur around you, but you felt a little distant from it all. You could feel the jostling of it, the tight cocoon as it wrapped you up before he hefted you into his arms and set you on the front of the horse. He pulled himself up behind you and leant over you to grip the reigns and begin the journey back to Winterfell. 

You couldn’t remember much else, not being taken off the horse nor being carried up to your bedroom where you were set directly in front of the fire and a cup of tea was pressed into your hands and brought to your lips by Dyanna as she sobbed. 

All you knew was that two days later the maesters declared that you were with child. 

The news that you carried the Stark heir spread like wildfire and caused celebrations anew. Everyone seemed so joyous, celebrating with wine and fine cuts of beef, but you were almost confined to your room. 

After the chaos of your walk into the woods, Cregan had a guard assigned to you. The man stayed outside your room, followed you around the castle if you dared to venture out, and deterred you from ever leaving the grounds, even for a prayer at the heart tree. You were too precious to be lost now. 

You truly became a ghost then. With the pregnancy, Cregan ceased to bed you, and the one minor pleasure you once received disappeared. You became a forlorn thing, rarely ever leaving your bed or your room. You allowed Dyanna to read to you, to feed you, but you did not engage in anything, not even in embroidery. You had nothing left. 

As the nine months passed, you did not improve, but you did not worsen. As your belly grew, as the feeling of a baby growing inside you became real, you began speaking to it. Only late at night, when the moon was high in the sky and you could not sleep, did you open your mouth and began whispering to it. You told it about your life before, about your home and your childhood. You told it about your brothers and sisters, about their spouses and their houses and their children. You sang it hushed and cracked little lullabies that came out squeaky from your unused voice, and you told it you loved it more than anything in the world and beyond. 

When you went into labour, a sudden gush of water down your dress as you sat by the fire listening to Dyanna read, she almost fainted from her panic. She ran to fetch the maesters and you stood in the middle of the room, eyes wide and… alive. The pain contorting through you was horrible and amazing. It was perhaps the first time you felt faced with the reality that you were with child. You were pregnant with your child. 

The labour was long and full of pain. The babe did not want to leave you despite the struggle and you were leaning toward fainting from the exhaustion when he was finally pulled from you trembling and wailing. He. Your child was a son. 

“I want to see him,” you whispered, shaky and hoarse, drenched in sweat and smeared with blood. Your limbs were shaky and tingling but they felt like your own for the first time since you became pregnant. Your hair was plastered to your face and forehead but you could not care less. You were blinking and panting, but you reached out hoping someone would show him to you, hand him over. “Please.” 

The first maester cut the cord and wiped off his head and face before wrapping him in a blanket and placing him on your chest, while the other left to tell Cregan the news. You cradled the baby to your chest and looked down on him. The tears welled so quickly in your eyes that you could do nothing but let them stream down your face and begin hiccupping with sobs as his cries became little huffing noises. 

He was small and impossibly soft, with tufts of dark hair that were the exact same shade as Cregan’s. His hands formed little fists that he tried to flail and his face was all scrunched lines and pink blotches. You lifted him higher and pressed your lips to the top of his head, clutching him tight to yourself. 

You lay like that for a long time hugging your son and whispering sweet nothings against his skin. Each time the maesters came to try and pry the boy away you refused, holding him a little tighter. But eventually you were overcome with exhaustion and sleep slackened your arms. With silent movements they slipped him from your grip and left the room, instructing Dyanna to stay with you. 

You slept for a long time. Each time you began to stir, a mix of warm milk and milk of the poppy was poured down your lips and you were sent straight back into the darkness. Dyanna gently washed your face and neck with a wet cloth and tied your hair into a braid to keep out of your away. She stayed vigilant at your bedside, even as Cregan came on the next day and kissed you gently on the forehead, whispering something by your ear before leaving once more. 

On the third day you woke up with a start as the last of the milk of the poppy left you and the throbbing pains from the birth returned. You were frantic, ruffling your hands around the bedsheets before trying to get up and finding Dyanna’s wide eyes. 

“Where is he? Where is my son?” You asked hurriedly, eyes running all over the room but not seeing anything. You were almost fully up and beginning to slide off the bed when she came over, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you from moving any farther. 

“Sh, sh, hush now, darling,” she began softly, “he’s alright, he’s perfectly alright, you just need to rest.” You allowed her to help you sit up in bed and tuck the sheets around your waist but you still tried to look over her shoulder as if he was hiding just behind her. 

“Where is he?” You asked again, running your hands over the sheets. Dyanna paused for a second before continuing to pour you water from a pitcher and bringing the cup up to your lips. She stayed silent as you gulped down the entire thing before filling it again.  

“They’ve named him Edrick,” she told you with a small smile, a nervous thing that tried so hard to be comforting but looked so fearful. “After the king of old.” 

“They?” You heaved out as you pulled the cup from your mouth, water dripping from your lips down to your chin. 

“Lord Cregan and Lady Arra,” she told you quietly, gazing at you from under her lashes. She busied herself refilling the cup as you sunk into the bed, your mind whirling. You stared at the door across the room, frozen as if dipped in ice. “He has been brought to his new nursery and…” she paused again, gulping as a sheen of sweat appeared upon her brow, “they have said you need not worry about him now.” 

You were filled with an anguish that would never end. Suddenly you wished for the days back before you became pregnant, the days when you were lost in your own mind, feeling nothing and knowing nothing of how your situation could become so much worse. You were empty on the inside out, as if the line connecting you to your child had been forcibly severed and you were left to bleed without end. 

You cried endlessly, sobbing and wailing in your bed until Dyanna was forced to pour milk of the poppy down your throat to subdue you. You begged and pleaded with Dyanna, clasping your hands together and bending in half on the bed as you called for your baby, wanting but a moment with him. But each time your only response was that he was alright, he was exactly where he was meant to be. How could you believe that when you knew it was not true? When you knew that his rightful place was with you? 

You were confined to bedrest for a handful of weeks to ensure you healed properly from the birth. The maesters came to check on you often and each time they watched you with wide and worried eyes. You transitioned from loud wailing sobs to silent rivers of tears to eventually becoming a stony rock once more, your jaw and eyes set more harshly than even the jagged peaks of the mountainous Vale. Dyanna tried to tempt you with reading and embroidery once more but you simply shook your head, crossing your arms and contenting yourself with staring at the door as if you could make it open with the will of your mind. 

You replayed the moments of Edrick’s birth in your mind over and over, never letting the sight of his little face stray from your mind’s eye. You wondered how he looked now, how much he had changed in the long time he had been stolen from you. And as you healed, slowly beginning to walk the length of your room, first with Dyanna’s assistance and then on your own, you settled on that thought. He had been stolen from you. They had stolen your son from you. 

Eventually you were allowed out of your chambers and you took to roaming the castle on your own. The guards became familiar with your figure at all hours of the day and night, watching you stroll through the halls in your nightgown or robes like a spectre. You explored every corner of the place, every nook and cranny, every store room and bedroom, every window and ledge. You did it without fail every single day, and eventually the household staff had a running story about the spectre of Winterfell. 

Sometimes you would stumble on Arra or Cregan, arms lifted to cradle a little bundle. You could never see into the blankets from afar, could not see his face or his eyes, but you felt such an immense pang of pain that it took everything within you not to run to them. If you were lucky, you might glimpse his arm sticking out of the fabric, or a stray foot wiggling in the air, but most of the time you watched from a distance as his father smiled down at him, as some woman posing as his mother rocked and sung to him before kissing his forehead. 

Despite how it looked, the roaming was not aimless. You took carefully crafted routes, never the same one twice, to always end up at the nursery in the late evenings when even the wet nurses had gone to their beds. Sometimes you sat outside the door, back pressed to the stone wall, knees pulled up to your chest as you rocked back and forth, overcome with grief and something tinged with madness. Other times you carefully opened the door and tiptoed in, standing by his cot and hurriedly wiping your tears before they could drip onto his cheeks.

He was the perfect child. He was yours. He had soft round cheeks and his hair was like silk. Sometimes, when he would blink his eyes open and stare up at you, they were bright and blue and you were overcome. He rarely cried in your presence, and if he began to fuss, you would quickly lift him from the cot and hold him close to your chest, whispering the stories you had once told him as he rested in your womb and kissing his downy little head. 

And each night when you set him back down and returned to your own bed, you clenched your jaw and mumbled to yourself that you would not let them take him. They had taken your happiness, your joy, your very soul, over and over until your insides were carved out and there was nothing left. But you would not let them take him. 

Slowly the plan came into action. All your walks yielded everything important for it. Your presence was never noted, you became familiar with the changes of the guard and the guards themselves. You knew which ones were rather lax in their attention, which ones were drowsy and half-asleep against the wall, and which ones left their watch at the door to play a quick game with their compatriots in darkest hours of the night. 

You began gathering provisions, saving bread and cheeses from your sparse dinners in little cloth bundles in a sack under your bed. You found a length of rope and wrapped it all in a fur before securing the rope around it. And then you waited. 

You waited for the night when the moon was gone under a heavy cloud cover. You tied the pack onto your back and made your way through the empty halls and into the nursery. You gathered Edrick to your chest and held him close as you took servant’s ways and hidden passages to a back door that led you straight to the edge of the courtyard. You watched the guard leave his post and kept pressed close to the wall as you edged out and began following the wall until you were at the back of the fortress. 

You took a moment to breathe, to try and ease the stiffness in all your limbs and calm the loud panting breaths that were leaving you. You looked down at your baby, at the peaceful close of his eyes, his long lashes fanning his cheeks and his little mouth pouting. He already looked so much like his father. You pressed a kiss to his face and began jogging for the woods, not slowing until you hit the cover of the trees. 

You had planned everything. You had listened carefully to the stories Dyanna had read to you, of the towns even more northerly than Winterfell and the places where one could slip beyond the wall and find wildlings. You had decided to go north through the woods in search of a village before getting to the wall and beyond. You prayed at your hearth that whatever people you may find beyond it would take pity on you and your son, that the wildlings, though savage they may be, would find some kindness in their hearts for you, a naive hope or not. 

You stopped again just past the first line of trees and looked back at Winterfell. The clouds shifted for a moment and the fortress was a black silhouette in the moonlight. You remembered your last dinner with Dyanna, how happy she had been that you spoke to her like your old self, how tightly she had hugged you and smiled with teary eyes, how gravely yet gently she had said goodbye. You knew that by the time the first rays of the sun broke the horizon the disappearance of Edrick would be discovered. You knew that they would find you gone as well, and riders would be sent out in every direction, told not to return until they found you. And you knew that it was most likely that you would not succeed, that if they did not find you first then you would succumb to some type of death. But you turned your back on Winterfell and prepared to walk endlessly through the night. Because here was the point of no return, and you would die trying.

EDIT: An amazing comment left by @ewanartistofeywa is exactly what I would imagine as a part 2 for this, so anyone who wants one, or wants some inspiration for their own imagination, I highly recommend reading their comment!

[sem-ra]

Sem, can you bless us with some headcanons for Modern!Baelor and reader? they're my absolute favourite, i don't know how many times I've re-read Professional Boundries at this point lol 💜

Dear anon, I am so happy you have enjoyed Professional Boundaries 🥹!! Thank you for the request! I had fun writing this and made me realise how much I missed these two 💜

Professional Boundaries Masterlist ✦ Main Masterlist

SFW Headcanons

Baelor's favourite part of the day was hearing your voice. You could be complaining about work, rambling about a book or tv show you were halfway through, recounting something ridiculous that Lyonel said, or telling him about an inconvenience that would mean nothing to anyone else. He listened all the same. Even before you two officially became a couple, he loved listening to you.

You fell fast, but Baelor fell harder. You knew you were in trouble from the first meeting when you joined the company. Baelor on the other hand started to organise his day around you, arranging meetings around your schedule, taking care to be in meetings because you were in them. The moment he started doing that it was already over for him. He just did not realise it yet.

It was impossible to keep the two of you separate for long at company events. You would be networking, speaking to different people, spending half of the evening on opposite sides of the room. And still, you always drifted towards each other naturally like magnets.

Your phone was full of candid pictures of him. Things like Baelor reading reports with his glasses on the bridge of his nose, him concentrating during a board game, or him asleep on the couch. He did not know most of them existed. But there was always that slight softness in his eyes when he did find one.

He always reached for you when you were nearby. His hand would find your wrist, your hand, your waist, the small of your back. He did it unconsciously. Sometimes he could be halfway through a conversation before realising he had been holding your hand for the last ten minutes.

Besides always seeking you out,when you were in the comfort of your home he became even more physically affectionate. He would pull you closer to him on the couch, rest his forehead against yours, let his hand rest on your thigh, thumb drawing patterns on your skin. There was something he found deeply comforting about knowing you were within reach.

Most people knew Baelor as the reliable and dependable good son. They knew him as the capable executive, as the man who had everything under control. You were one of the very few people who saw how exhausted he really was. You would notice the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose after difficult meetings, the way his shoulder would stiffen after dealing with stakeholders, board members, and his father. You would notice how quiet he became when he was carrying too much. You never argued about this. You would simply walk over, take the laptop away, ignore his protests while dragging him to bed. His protests never lasted long.

You became his weak spot. He could tolerate any criticism directed at him, because he had spent his entire life doing exactly that. But when it would be directed at you? He would become cold, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. He never raised his voice or lost control. His voice would drop into that calm tone that means someone had made a mistake they were about to regret.

Baelor did not think he would ever have this. He spent most of his life being what everyone else needed him to be. Then you chose him for him. And somehow that changed everything. It made him selfish in ways he never thought possible, with you, with his happiness, with the future he could have with you. And once he had you, he became fiercely devoted to keeping you.

NSFW

Baelor simply loved eating you out. It was not foreplay to him, but a form of worship. He possessed an obsessive hunger for your taste and scent, and he could spend hours buried between your thighs. He loved the way your thighs would tremble and your hips would uncontrollably rut against his face as your release hovered close.

He was a gentle dom. His dominance was rooted in care and control, not cruelty. He relished in taking charge to ensure your maximum pleasure. His authority was like a warm blanket, and you felt safe enough to completely surrender to him every time.

Due to this, he did not like the idea of choking you. But he was obsessed with the feeling of your throat in his hands. He would tilt your head back, expose your throat, or simply hold you while he would thrust into you. It acted as a physical reminder that you belonged entirely to him.

He found a specific kind of pleasure in watching you ride him. He would always be captivated by you, whether you would be facing him, or ride him with your back pressed against his chest. He loved to reach out and squeeze your hips, guiding your pace, watching you arch back as you would take him deep.

Both of you had an exhibitionism kink. You never discussed it before, but after having sex in the office for the first time, the rush of the adrenaline was addictive. The risk of being caught just added a sharper edge to the sex.

He adored praising you, voice a low purr in your ear. He would tell you how beautiful you look while taking him, how good you feel around his cock, how you were made for him. It was not just sweet praise, but a way to reward your responsiveness and encourage you to open up even more for him. 

Despite all of this, the ultimate catalyst for his release was emotional intimacy. Whispering “I love you” in his ear always stripped away his composure, causing him to cum with a hard and shaking intensity, leaving him completely spent and clinging to you.

Because I could not figure out how to properly add and reblog my taglist to a scheduled post, I am skipping it for now. I did not want to risk missing anyone or picking and choosing unfairly. We will be back to the regular taglist once I am back from my holidays!

[thirstingseason]

omggggg my favourite couple is back!!! This was perfect Sem!!

[idksmtms]

THAT WAS SO CUTE!!!!

as if tmm!king! baelor isn’t stressed enough already i know he was STRESSIN with his beloved at the wall 😭 all those bad men that haven’t seen a woman in a looong time up there and his beautiful soft wife within their reach

breakspear turns into breakjaw real quick

awww thank you so much!! Anon is magical for thinking of that fr fr!

Baelor was definitely stressing at the wall because he knows exactly what kind of men are there and why they have been sent there and the thought of bringing his darling girl into that environment is actually giving him heart palpitations. But he also can't say no to you, and he doesn't want to deny you seeing the wall because these other creepers are around.

I can see him being hyperaware when he's there. He's obviously already told you not to go any farther than arm's reach from him, but he's really only focused on what he's being told when you are right by his side. He's his usual charming self, but he's a little less smiley and more serious and straightforward because of the perceived threat. He knows there are at least three kingsguard around you guys but he would never take chances with you.

If he sees one of the knight'swatch staring at you too long, he will glare them down until they turn away, hoping you didn't notice that it was happening. Or he'll walk over, smile softly at you, indulge your excitement about the cold and the view, but subtly wrap your cloak a little tighter around you. You think he's being all cute and caring, making sure you're warm, but he's just being extra possessive and protective, and making sure they can't even touch their horrible gazes to any part of you.

it's safe to say that tmm!baelor was STRESSED the entire time the two of you were at the wall, and he wanted to be back in the safety of your rooms together ASAP.

[thirstingseason]

will never not get excited by a tmm ask! I'm still getting the hang of using both my blogs so bear with me as I navigate deciding how to answer asks! I think I'll do shorter asks/non-fic response asks directly to the post, and if I'm writing something longer/a fic for the ask, then I'll first post it here then link it back to the ask! But for now, here is a reblog of this cute TMM ask!

[thirstingseason]

A/N: I got this lovely ask in my inbox a while ago when all those pictures of Bertie in Baghdad Central were going around. I was thinking thoughtssss but so were all of you amazing anons! I decided to post it here because I'm trying to move all my writing to this new blog but it will still go on the original DIL!reader masterlist! I hope you enjoy it, and sorry for taking forever to get to this!

Word count: 2.3k 

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), daughter in law!reader, father in law!baelor, innuendo/allusions to smut but no smut, humour, teasing, nothing much else really, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

It was Baelor’s own fault really, as loath as he was to admit it. He should have known not to turn his head in the direction of the door at the knock, should have remembered that there was currently a valet with a blade against his face and that movement would mean the neat line of his beard was going to suddenly become far less neat and there would be a large chunk of his beard now sitting like a lump in the poor boy’s hand. 

They both stared at each other with wide eyes, the boy now shaking and Baelor frozen in incredulity. The boy began to blubber, hurried apologies rushing from his mouth in a panic as he stared at the oddly carved line where a lovely salt and pepper beard had once resided. Baelor sat up, looking into the mirror this way and that as he yelled for whoever was talking to come in. He was attempting to keep a tight hold on his patience, because his ire was undeserved in this situation. He knew that. But he couldn’t help feeling it. 

Though he prided himself on not being overly vain (though he also would not deny someone calling him handsome or the claim that he had been naturally gifted in his looks) any respectable man took care of their appearance. He felt suddenly bare and wrong knowing that it would all have to go. Oh what would you say? He cared more for your opinion of his looks than he did his own. He could get by with or without a beard, but you always waxed poetic about how lovely his looked, always told him how much you loved the feel of it between your thighs. Oh what would you say… 

“Your grace, you are urgently required in council with the King. A dispute has broken out between Prince Maekar and the Master of Coin and none can handle it but you, sir.” The knight looked wary, glancing at Baelor and the valet and the blade and thinking of the kerfuffle occurring in the council chambers at the same moment. 

Baelor shut his eyes and sighed, long and low, shaking his head as the immense tiredness of it all hit him. This would not do. This would not do at all. Then he took a deep breath in and nodded his head, leaning back in the chair and gesturing for the valet to return. 

“Take off the beard but leave the moustache, I shall return to have the lot shaved off after I handle this matter. And be quick about it, I do not mind a nick or two. And you, Ser, make the two parties aware that I will be there shortly and there should not be any fists raised by the time I enter the door.” 

The knight nodded and left swiftly, beginning to jog when the door closed behind him. For all he knew, Prince Maekar was already at the Master of Coin’s throat. Baelor shut his eyes and sighed, jaw tight as he felt the quick movements and heard the scraping sounds of the blade against his cheeks. Oh what would you say…

When Baelor finally made it to the council chamber, rubbing his hand over his bare jaw and fluffy upper lip the whole way, Maekar was standing and glaring across the table, palms slammed down on top of it. All the seated men turned their heads to face the door, and it was an instant change in expression. Eyes widened, mouths gaped, and Baelor grimaced at the sea of shock, jaw working back and forth uncomfortably. And then worst of all, the thing he knew was coming, a high amused laugh from Maekar. The youngest prince leaned back from where he had been threatening the Master of Coin and guffawed, watching his eldest brother with shiny amused eyes. But Baelor only shot him a glare, moving swiftly to his seat and settling down with a huffing sigh. 

“What is the matter here? I was told that two grown men, two lords of the realm,” he emphasised, “could not hold a civilised discussion and were resorting to raising fists.” 

Everyone (bar Maekar) settled down after that, getting right back down to business and focusing on tasks that actually mattered (and not the state of Baelor’s facial hair). Once the rest of the council departed and left Maekar and Baelor to their own company, the youngest prince began to laugh once more. It was a proper laugh, the kind that shook his entire body and made his eyes shine like anything. 

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Maekar giggled, wiping haphazardly at his eyes as he was overwhelmed with laughter once more. “It makes you look rather like a man known to frequent a whorehouse,” he continued, leaning in and squinting at Baelor’s upper lip. The elder just scoffed, shaking his head as irritation rose along his spine. “Perhaps if Valarr was not aware of your transgressions with his wife before, then surely this pervert’s visage will tell him.” 

Again, Maekar dissolved into laughter, pressing his hands to his face as his breath left him. Baelor clenched his jaw at that, shutting his eyes and sighing long and low. This would be a difficult day… 

And difficult it was. Work seemed to pile up like never before, meaning there was not a spare moment to be had where he could have the boy return and shave the offending thing off his face. In each meeting, each walk along the hall, everyone’s eyes drifted to his face, each widening or shining in mirth, each fluttering away as if the sight was offending. Though he did not have much time to dwell on this either, whenever the thought did hit, it only filled him with dread at what your reaction might be. 

On the other side of the Keep, you had been having a lovely relaxed day. You woke up well past sunrise, laved in kisses by Father, had a luscious breakfast followed by dress fittings, had spent some time reading in the gardens then took tea with your ladies in the gazebo. Though you were a little upset that you had not had time to find Father at any point, you knew you would see him in the evening for a lovely dinner with just the two of you, so you bided your time until the sun set and you found yourself in his chambers once more. 

The table had been set, waiting only for Baelor to return, and you sat leisurely on the chaise in front of the fire with your book. He was a little later than usual, but that was no matter for it was not an unexpected occurrence either. Just when you stood to pour yourself a cup of wine, the door opened and Baelor walked in. 

He sighed tiredly, and kept his head bent a little. You beamed as you turned away from the table, your pretty pink silk dress swishing against the floor, your mouth opening ready to greet him when you caught sight of his face and let out a loud (rather dramatic) gasp. 

Baelor grimaced as he caught sight of your widened eyes, jaw clenching just so as he made his way to you. You stared up at him, frozen and gasping like a fish out of water, before hurrying forward and reaching your hands out. You began dragging your fingertips along his face, over the smooth planes of his cheeks where his beard had once grown lusciously, and then the tuft of hair on his upper lip, feeling along it like a jeweller with their latest horde. 

“An unfortunate incident occurred this morning,” he began quietly, holding you around the waist and pressing you close. If there was to be any consolation for this, he would only find it with you pressed against him. But before he could continue, you were pressing up onto the tips of your toes, gripping him by the back of the neck, and kissing obnoxiously over the smooth skin of his cheeks. You made happy little noises, nuzzling your nose and mouth against him. 

“You look utterly ravishing!” You squealed excitedly, tracing your lips over the bridge of his nose and along his other cheek. 

Baelor froze against you, eyes going a little wide and mouth slackening. He moved his head back a little to look down at you, but you were too busy caressing his face and looking up at him with big shiny eyes of awe. He could not fathom it. 

“Ravishing?” He asked incredulously, fingers pressing then releasing at your waist. 

“Yes! Oh my, I never even considered the possibilities! I always thought you looked far too good with your beard so I never questioned it but my my! I did not even think of you in this way!” You were truly beaming now, giggling a little and touching him incessantly (not that you didn’t already do this, but it felt overloaded now). You caressed your fingertips up and down his neck, traced his jawline and even pressed teasing pecks to his chin. 

“Everyone has gawped at me all the day long,” he told you softly, reaching up to cup your cheek in return, running his thumb along the soft skin there. 

“I am not at all surprised! You look so utterly delectable like this, I am sure they were all imagining pulling you into their beds!” You responded quickly, a spark of jealousy burning suddenly at the idea, your teeth baring a little to nip at his jaw. 

Baelor huffed a laugh, shaking his head as his own body suddenly lit up at your blatant desire. He was most endeared to you when you were like this, so earnest in your position that you could not possibly believe anyone would think otherwise. 

“Maekar proclaimed that I looked a lecher ready for the whorehouse,” he told you with a grumble, one corner of his mouth ticking up in mirth. But you only gasped again and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, humming softly. 

“Mm, but in a very attractive way, Father,” you giggled, and he scoffed again, nipping at your lip in return. 

“I was interrupted as the valet did his work, and it was better to shave it all off than to keep a mutilated beard,” he told you finally, running his nose along the side of your face in return. It was rather funny how the two of you turned into pups around each other, rubbing and kissing as if you had not seen each other in years when the reality was far from it. “I was meant to return to have this offending thing shaved off on the morrow.” 

Again you gasped, loud and dramatic but utterly offended this time. You gripped onto his shoulders and pulled back, making sure he was looking you in the eye. 

“Father! You will do no such thing!” You glared at him, as if he had already done it and denied you something precious, but he only scoffed and smiled with incredulity, looking at you as if you had lost your head. 

“My sweet girl, it is a ridiculous sight,” he rejoinded, but you began pouting and shaking your head abruptly. 

You pulled him to the chaise and forced him down, clambering swiftly onto his lap so he had no time to think otherwise. His palms automatically came to rest on your waist, and once you had settled there, you draped your arms over his shoulders and began gently kissing at his lips in soft little pecks. 

“It is not ridiculous. It makes you look… I do not know if I have the capacity to explain it to you properly Father, but it makes you look very…” then you huffed a little and smiled mischievously, leaning in and kissing him fully, mouth open and tongue exploring. “I want to see you between my legs this way,” you finally murmured, voice small and like a physical pressure against his mouth, as if you spoke the words right into him. 

Baelor shuddered, involuntary and powerful, every bit of his skin going hot and blazing. His eyes fluttered and he groaned, hurrying to kiss you once more, licking between the seam of your lips. He clutched the back of your neck tight, his arm a band around your waist now to keep you as physically close as possible. 

“Please do not get rid of it,” you whispered in a rush as your hips began to undulate against his lap. “Please, Father, do not be rid of it just yet,” you panted. 

Baelor groaned again, louder this time as he felt the weight of you drag against him, the pulsing in his trouser leg quickening. 

“I just know it will feel so good here,” you moaned right by his ear, taking one of his palms and dragging it down the length of your body to cup you between your legs. He groaned again, matching your moan when he pressed his hand even harder there, his eyes fluttering open just so he could watch your face contort. 

“It makes you look like you want to ravish me,” you finally broke out, writhing in his grip now. He let out something between a groan and a moan this time, his head nodding quickly as he began mouthing at your neck, pressing his lips and tongue and teeth there. 

“I do, I do, seven’s sake, I do,” he murmured quickly, repeating it over and over again as you moaned once more and pulled back to begin kissing him once more, feverish and hot. 

And though he perhaps did not hate the moustache as much as he had that morning, he still dreaded the idea of keeping it, because now he could not be rid of it even if he wanted to, for you would never forgive him… oh what had he done… 

[eowyns-fantasy]

Pornstache Baelor my beloved

[thirstingseason]

literally going to write a whole other fic with him because he just runs through my head rent free...