continued from here , @eyeofvengeance
there was nothing more terrifying than the sound of dragon wings on the wind. of that sansa had become certain. she had not wanted this position, had not wanted to be the one left behind in the wake of a war that was not hers, nor cregan's, to fight. but duty had called the way it so often did for men, and stark - bound honor meant the lord of the castle had gone to do his part – left behind in his stead the only family who had not turned her back . . . or died. it had meant that when the wind had howled with something more than winter, it was no man who crossed the threshold into the courtyard to meet aemond targaryen, but sansa in her quiet rage.
sansa who had sent her cousin's son into the crypts with the maester and the master - at - arms, and every maid they'd been able to find. had insisted she would do this alone. whatever it was that he wanted, she would handle – and none else would suffer for it.
but as he speaks, she cannot get a hold on him. cannot track the train of thought, cannot understand what it is he's asking for in between the pretty words and complimentary syllables. she knows it is something, to hear a man of his infamy speak of forging something stronger than oaths and service – it is always something.
“ forgive me, prince aemond, i fear i don't . . . quite follow what it is you are asking of me. ” her gloved hands interlace together in front of her, a careful flicker of grey - blue eyes across his features, studying the careful twitch of muscles, each consideration even as his voice softens. “ if you have not come here to kill me, or my kin, then perhaps the northern air has done you well in the fraction of time you have drawn breath within it. ”
red curls billow in the wind, cold encompassing the courtyard, but sansa dares not to allow herself even so much as a hint of a tremble now. not when she must be the voice of those who needed her. nor would she dare allow him inside the walls of winterfell proper, not without a better promise of his intentions. “ your dragon will not like it here. ” she says softly, boots shifting upon the stone path. “ even visenya did not fly so far north with her. i cannot decide whether that makes you courageous or full of folly. " or both. those words go unspoken, though the implication remains as sansa shifts her gaze from aemond to beyond the walls of the courtyard, beyond to where she fears for the worst in seeing large wings of a dragon come to life again.
“ speak plainly of your wishes, and i will allow you both warmth for the evening. else i am just as keen to stand here with you all night, it will not be i who freezes first. ”
ps , i work the next two days and since it drains the existence from me i won't be writing here much but i will be lurking and am around for plotting / figuring out dynamics and such either here or on discord <3
this is a gift , it comes with a price . independent, highly selective multi-muse roleplay blog. featuring muses from wrestling, house of the dragon, a song of ice and fire, interview with the vampire, and more ! minors do not interact. will contain triggering & sensitive topics, follow at your own behest. #PETITMORTES , as slaughtered by mowgli, 28 / cst / she+hers .
who is the lamb & who is the knife ?
you want to send me things from my meme tag, you want to do it SO bad 🌀🌀🌀
probably going to be taking an axe to anything in my drafts / inbox and going fresh from here + adding some characters to bring myself more joy here, putting a bigger focus on just vibing to have a good time. probably also removing some characters, tis what tis.
aha, hey.
usfw prompts , less cringy edition ; accepting.
@sickfcks said : [ OVERSTIMULATED ] sender repeatedly making receiver orgasm for orange & anna .
she should've known by the look in his eyes over dinner, she realizes – that he'd had something up his sleeve, had something planned for them tonight that wasn't their normal routine of crawling into bed to watch a movie. no, this was something else entirely, although their bed was still involved . . . albeit now a mess beneath her trembling body, her thighs pressed to either side of his head, her hands curled into soft blonde hair as his tongue continues to work against her clit.
“james.”
drawled out low and heavy, as if the weight of his name on her lips expands past the amount of energy she has left in her body; it might've, too, given she's lost count of just how many times he's unraveled her here, so sensitive now that it takes little more than a few delicate flicks of his tongue and a shift of his fingers curling against her g-spot to send her panting and pulling at his hair. surely she hadn't earned this – hadn't done anything so lovely to deserve him, and yet . . .
“baby, please, i can't –” can't anything, really, shifting on soaked sheets beneath her body, unable to tell what was sweat and what was her. a tremor through her body as she pulls harder at his hair, willing him to stop for the moment, but it's far too late for that now, another gentle caress of his fingers inside of her and she's falling again, body overtaken by another orgasm that washes over her. head thrown back against pillows once more, his name falling from her lips in a succession of barely audible breaths.
coughs, @wulfmaed
❝ ᴾʳⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴶᵃᶜᵃᵉʳʸˢ ᵖʳᵒᵛᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃ ᵐᵃⁿ, ─── ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᴵʳᵒⁿ ᵀʰʳᵒⁿᵉ. ❞
Some princes don't become kings.
Independent Jacaerys Velaryon from Fire & Blood. Book and Headcanon based. Found at #WORTHYHEIR
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