This Happened Many Many Times

Damian: crushes are the worst

y/n: right? i tend to act stupid around mine

Jason: you always act stupid

y/n: yeah, don't think too hard about that

summer of strawberries

Week 1 of Jinxed July is here! I promised my loves @finalgirllx & @thatdammchickennugget that I would participate in at least one week so here we are. I used the strawberry picking and heatwave prompts for a little sunshine x grumpy headcanon action with Theo. Banner from @cafekitsune!

Warnings: GN!Reader, mentions of smoking, grumpy!Theo, sunshine!reader, sickly sweet.

Word Count: 504 (Probably the shortest thing you'll get from me.)

Boyfriend!Theo who hates the heat. He hates the summer. He hates bugs.

Boyfriend!Theo who would rather sit under the AC of his childhood manor than do ANYTHING that requires him to move in the summer heat.

Boyfriend!Theo who has a partner who loves summer and the activities that come with it.

Boyfriend!Theo whose partner always wanted to go out and explore, host a pool party, or just be outside.

Boyfriend!Theo who was beyond annoyed when they were given a summer project to write about a fun outdoor activity they did over the summer.

Boyfriend!Theo who thought “Why does it matter to the teachers if he went outside or not?”

Boyfriend!Theo whose annoyance faded away a little bit once you said that you would do the activity with him.

Boyfriend!Theo whose only intention for the summer was to take you to his manor and hold you hostage in his bed.

“Strawberry picking!” You exclaimed, bouncing on Theo’s large bed excitedly.

Boyfriend!Theo who stared at you like you had grown two heads as he blew out smoke from his cigarette. “It’s hot.” He deadpanned.

“They’re ripe!” Your rebuttal, “And it’s the perfect thing for the project!”

Boyfriend!Theo rolled his eyes but got up to go to the strawberry field with you. He would do anything you said despite his distaste for the project and the heat.

Boyfriend!Theo whose love for you is strong but his hate for the sweltering heat wave is equally as strong.

Boyfriend!Theo who walked hand-in-hand with you, listening to you ramble on about every fact that you knew about strawberries. That was how your relationship worked, you were the yapper and he was the listener.

Boyfriend!Theo who watched you run to the field of strawberries, your smile brighter than the sun as you picked the biggest and juiciest ones.

Boyfriend!Theo who had a deep scowl on his face as he sweated through his white t-shirt. The material was basically sticking to his chest like a second layer of skin.

Boyfriend!Theo who also smiled sweetly at you whenever you showed him a bigger strawberry or a ladybug.

Boyfriend!Theo who risked sunburn to come and help you untangle a squirrel from the bushes.  

Boyfriend!Theo who definitely got sunburnt.

Boyfriend!Theo who gave you a piggyback ride all the way back to the manor, despite usually hating being touched in this type of heat.

Boyfriend!Theo who washed all your strawberries for you and made you different Italian desserts out of them.

Boyfriend!Theo who smiled softly as he watched your eyes gleam with happiness every time you bit into one of the strawberries or the desserts.

Boyfriend!Theo who loves you so much that he didn’t care about the raised eyebrows when the other boys saw his sunburnt skin when they came to visit.

Boyfriend!Theo who got the highest marks on his summer project when they came back to school.

Boyfriend!Theo who made Professor McGonagall dab tears from her eyes from reading his report because she could tell how much he loved you through the words he wrote.

Harwin Strong x reader = well-fucked. (pleaseee?)

Lemon Cake (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex. Fake orgasm, then a real one. Communication with your partner is sexy. Talks of sweets because I am starving.

A/N: This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time, and I was thinking of writing a sex marathon for it, but then I had this thought… What about a reader that struggles to orgasm? That’s common for women. I thought that Harwin would be the one who cares the most out of all the HOTD men.

You do not come to the marriage bed an innocent. You are a noble girl from The Reach, and so, no expense was spared for your education. Your Lady Mother had made sure you came prepared.

So that’s why, in the middle of the act, as your new Lord Husband pushes and grunts, rocking his hips against yours, you suddenly clench down. You clench and unclench, and give a few undignified noises, and then go limp in his arms.

Pulling back from you, Ser Harwin, or just Harwin, as he has asked you to call him, looks perplexed.

You grin. You must have done well if he looks so amazed. Remembering your Lady Mother's advice, you smile at him.

“Thank you. That felt nice.”

“I am afraid…” Harwin frowns. “Did you… Um. Was that supposed to be…?”

Perhaps he needs help. Perhaps no other woman had done that for him, although you knew it was likely Harwin had his first time with a whore, and they were much better at pretending than you were.

“I finished. I had a great time, husband. You should be proud of yourself.” You smile at him, trying to get it to not sound rehearsed.

You had not, in fact, had a great time. It had been mostly an uncomfortable time. You weren’t totally lying, either. Some of his earlier caresses had been pleasant. But no matter how much he had prepared you for it, the breach of your maidenhead had hurt. Your body felt like it was not meant to stretch that way.

Then, you were too in your head to properly enjoy it, wondering if you were pleasing him. No matter if he was trying his best to please you, you were thinking about how your body looked, how you sounded. You just wanted him to be happy.

Harwin had been a wonderful betrothed. Calm, gentle and reassuring. He had taken time listening to you and getting to know you. Despite being very different from you, he had partaken in your hobbies and interests, to get closer to you. You felt he deserved a reward for it, something you could give to him in exchange for his kindness.

Hence, the false peak. Your Lady Mother had told you that men liked that sort of thing. They felt proud, when they could boast about how good they made their ladies feel. And men were less likely to stray when they found their wives fun to bed. You intended to be a joy.

“My lady.” Harwin pulled out of your body. You frowned, confused. “You certainly did not.”

“Yes, I did.” Your voice is gentle. Perhaps he needs extra reassurance. You have no problem feeding his ego, considering he has been really nice to you since you were engaged. “It was wonderful.”

“You did not. I will not ask you why you felt the need to fake it, but I will ask that you do not lie to me.” His tone is stern. You wrap yourself with the sheets, like a scolded child. Harwin stays silent for a moment, before placing a hand on your back. “Did you really enjoy yourself, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

“I was…”

“Be honest, wife. Remember your vows.” He interrupts, before you can think of a better lie. Harwin has a harsh tone that makes you understand exactly why he was made Commander of the Citywatch. You decide to drop the pretense, then.

The two of you don’t know each other well enough for you to know if it is safe to keep lying. Is Harwin good at catching lies? Is he observant? You don’t know. And in those cases, instead of digging a deeper hole, honesty tends to be the best policy.

“I wanted you to be happy, and proud.” Your tone is soft, still facing away from him. He lays down behind you, spooning you, and presses a kiss to your nape.

It’s a strange feeling. This was not how your wedding night was supposed to go. You had expected physical closeness and intimacy, but not this kind.

“I am certainly not.” But despite the harsh words, Harwin rubs his nose against your nape, sweetly. “Did you enjoy any of it?”

His tone is genuine. Curious, and not scolding. Perhaps, even the slightest bit guilty.

You are not sure of how to put it. It’s also not something you feel comfortable discussing. You are thankful for the fact that your back is to him, and he can’t see your expression. It takes you a while to have the courage to speak.

“I did, at first. But when you… When you entered me, it hurt. It was pleasant, I guess, after a while, but not really… Groundbreaking.”

It’s so awkward to say. You know this is not proper conversation, not even for a wife and a husband. The act is not meant to cause you any pleasure. It’s meant for Harwin to enjoy and to give you children. No more.

“Oh?” But Harwin doesn’t sound angry or scandalized. His tone is one of intrigue. You can feel his lips curling into a smile against the skin of your nape. “Do tell.”

You wonder how you could possibly explain. It finally occurs to you. You can compare it to something he will understand.

“It was like having a cake. Not a lemon cake, just a plain cake. Good, just not…”

Harwin chuckles, making you laugh too. The feel of the little huffs of air he lets up against your neck is quite ticklish.

“I get it. But I don't need you to fake your pleasure. I rather know I am not doing it right.”

“Is there a way for it to be enjoyable?” You look at him, over your shoulder. Curious, this time. If it was some other man, one less kind, you wouldn’t ask. “A right way?”

“Let me teach you.” Harwin whispers in your ear. His hands start mapping over your body. He caresses your neck, then your chest. His hands cup your breasts, softly massaging them.

It feels like before. Good. Warm. Arousal slowly starts to make all your hairs stand on end, breasts getting heavier, center going slick. Almost unaware of it, you moan. You can tell the situation is affecting Harwin too. His hardness, which had softened while you were cuddling, is back with a vengeance. It presses insistently against your behind.

Harwin trails a hand over your stomach, palm wide and warm. He lifts one of your legs, so it rests on his thigh, leaving you open to him. You sigh, sweetly.

“Like that?” He asks you, before lowering his hand towards something that makes you feel like you are on fire. His thumb taps lightly at it, and you moan. “That’s your pearl. If you rub it, it feels good.”

“Yes. Just like that.” Your head lolls over his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It suddenly isn’t enough. “The… Could you…?”

“Tell me.” Harwin kisses your jaw. “I want honest opinions.”

“Take your shirt off.” As Harwin shifts to comply with your orders, you notice he is hard again, poking at your lower back. “And… Um. Could we try again?”

“Try what?” He rubs softly at your pearl, making you mewl near his ear. Harwin chuckles, darkly.

You stare at him over your shoulder. You feel so embarrassed, you wish the earth would open and swallow you whole. Harwin grins, and does absolutely nothing. Even the fingers he has on your pearl stop.

“I want you inside me.” You finally say, when just being held starts being too little for you.

“Are you sure?” He presses a kiss to your temple, his fingers lowering towards your entrance. As soon as his hands are moving again, your hips buck against them, impatiently.

“You said there was a way for it to be pleasant. I want that. Show me.” Your voice comes out a little breathless.

“You are a wonder.” Harwin kisses you, softly. “My brave, gorgeous girl. I am so sorry for what happened before.”

“It’s alright.” But just as you are speaking, you feel him lining the two of you up. You do your best effort not to tense up or expect pain. Your words melt into a soft sigh as Harwin enters you.

Just as he did before, he stays still. The stretch is not nearly as uncomfortable as it used to be, but it’s still quite considerable. You doubt you will ever get used to his size. It feels as if he is pinning you into place. A bit overwhelmed, you search for his hand for reassurance.

“I was a bit overeager, before.” Harwin kisses your temple. “I wanted you so much, I wasn’t paying the attention you deserve.”

His hand caresses your ribs, softly. It tickles, and you can’t help but laugh. It prompts a chain reaction. Your laughter makes you clench up, which makes him groan and makes you laugh even more.

“That’s flattering.”

Your laughter buys you a much-needed respite. No longer does it feel like you are being pulled apart. Still, Harwin’s sad puppy look gets to you.

“I was too in my head. Just not in the moment.” You explain, not wanting him to feel bad about it. Because it’s the truth. You were the one who decided to fake a peak when there was no need for it. You have heard many ladies cried and yelled during their wedding nights, and their husbands didn’t even bat an eyelash. Harwin was not that kind of man. Had you been truly suffering, from what you had learned about him, he would have stopped.

If you had just allowed your face to show its true emotions, you were sure Harwin would have done something. But you had been too embarrassed and too caught up on making it good for him.

“I can keep you grounded, if you wish.” Harwin teases, kissing your cheek. His hips roll gently against yours, as if searching for something. Something he manages to find because you nearly jump from his arms when he touches something inside you that makes you see stars. “There?”

“There.”

He hugs you from behind, keeping the angle of his hips. This time, is more gentle, but much more precise. It feels good. Once again, it feels pleasant. Good. But nothing is happening. You start to get anxious. Why can’t you just get there? Will Harwin get bored with trying to indulge you? You would rather not be a burden to him, or get in between him and his pleasure. Perhaps it’s just not for you.

Harwin pulls you in for a kiss, without stopping the rocking of his hips.

“Are you still with me?”

You look at him, a little sad. You promised to be truthful, but you would rather not hurt his feelings. He is trying hard to please you, you can feel it. But it’s just not working.

“No. I am so sorry, husband. I am really trying, just…”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to stop?” Harwin kisses your cheek, not sounding too hurt. You risk a peek at his expression. His face is calm, encouraging, even.

“No.” You mutter. It comes out a little too sad because he boops your nose, making you smile on reflex.

“Here. Let me…” Harwin shifts you, from your side to sitting on top of him. The suddenness of the movement makes you yelp. “Use me.”

“What?” You cannot believe your ears. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his chest, bracing yourself. He smiles up at you, encouragingly.

“For your pleasure. Do what feels right. And if your thighs get tired, or your hips feel tight, tell me. I’ll help you.”

“I feel silly.” You complain, grabbing at his member. It feels warm and slick in your hand. Harwin makes a small noise at the contact, and you smile, sinking down on him.

It feels different immediately. It’s both deeper and increasingly intimate. But you feel self-conscious, staring him right in the eyes. There is no way you will be able to fake your pleasure now, not with his eyes on yours.

Shyly, you turn your head away from him.

“Don’t. You look gorgeous. The prettiest woman I have ever seen. “ His hand is gentle against your cheek, encouraging you to look him in the eye.

Harwin smiles softly. You smile back. And then, you arch your hips, searching for the right angle. He watches you, eager to learn how to please you. And you watch right back.

His face, going slack in pleasure. The way he grunts when you slowly get up and down, rocking your hips just so to get friction on your pearl. The way sweat starts to gather at his temples, making his hair stick down. It fills you with a secret thrill, pleasing him.

You want, no, need more. You rub at your pearl, yet it feels too rough to be enjoyable. Almost too dry. You whine. Harwin catches the hint immediately. He takes your wrist and presses a kiss to your palm, softly, before taking two of your fingers into his mouth. You startle a little, both by the contrast between the lewd action and the tenderness he treats you with, and how much into it he seems to be.

Harwin releases your fingers with a wet pop, giving you a naughty grin. You don’t need any further prompting. You feel almost uncomfortably wet now, after his display, but you still use the fingers he sucked to rub at your pearl.

It’s as if you are burning up. You are hot with need, thighs clenching and stomach tensing in preparation for something. Arousal thrums on your nerves, echoes in your bones. You are so close, a wave just about to crash against the shore.

Your eyes fall closed. It’s an impossible thing, you know. But you swear you can feel your pulse, beating under your fingertips, in that tight little bundle of nerves. You are starting to get tired, and you cling to Harwin’s shoulders desperately.

“That's it. Just like that, love. You are doing so good for me. Just a bit more.” His hand rubs your flank, softly. He is trying to encourage you, but you want to scream out in frustration. You are so close.

You grunt, thighs burning with exertion. It makes your rhythm falter. You sob.

“You can do it. Give it to me.” But you clearly can’t. Not on your own. So Harwin plants his hips and thrusts, aiding you along.

You moan loudly.

“Like that. More.”

He is quick to obey, helping you bounce up and down. As you finally, finally reach the peak both of you have worked so hard for, you lean in and kiss him.

“I love you.” And it's glorious. The best feeling in the world, warm in your stomach, body taut from head to toe. The wave finally crashing against the shore, a faint buzzing in your ears.

“I love you too.” Harwin says, squeezing your hands. He waits until you open your eyes and catch your breath, before rolling you over. “My turn.”

You laugh. He thrusts several more times, before falling on top of you. His face is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and you tell him so, enjoying his blush.

You stay like that for a while, before you get too impatient. You wriggle a little, feeling sticky all over, but Harwin just pulls you closer.

“So. Lemon cake or just cake?”

“Lemon cake. Definitely.”

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swing open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside the sound of his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

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Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

Some of the fav memes i made follow my pinterest for more memes like this 👅

‘It’s okay to love them both, I did I do’~ Katherine Pierce Me🙋🏻‍♀️

#i NEED them both🙇‍♀️🧎‍♀️

So when are we fucking the Roman general?

Hey, what if Charles was struck with a love potion, which makes you fall in love with the first person you see. And guess who Charles is standing right in front of and looking at in that moment? Well, Edwin, of course.

The whole gang scrambles to get back into the office to try to figure it out (and Edwin is freaking out, he has to find a counterspell immediately because he's not going to cope well with Charles acting as if he's in love with him only for that to end along with the spell).

Crystal and Niko are asking Charles questions about how he feels and if anything has changed, but he claims he's fine and that the potion must have been a fake or something.

Because he's supposed to be in love with his best mate now, but nothing really changed in how he feels about him.

Interesting, isn't it?