You'll Be Safe - Chapter Three

You'll Be Safe - Chapter Three

∘₊✧──────✧₊⋆⋅☆⋅⋆∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real, too."

- Stephen King.

∘₊✧──────✧₊⋆⋅☆⋅⋆∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

HURRICANE AGGIE WAS A BITCH, AND YOU COULD QUOTE HER ON THAT. Ellie didn’t bother to lie on her back. She knew she wasn’t getting any sleep with the pounding rain and howling winds banging on her window, fighting to break the glass and sweep her into the storm with the thunder and lightning. Instead, she curled into a sitting ball with Sami curled beside her. Her knees remained tucked underneath her Dad’s oversized Chapel Hill zip-up hoodie with her comforter wrapped around her like an extra shield.

∘₊✧──────✧₊⋆⋅☆⋅⋆∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @dipperscavern, @instructionsnotincluded, @darlingchronicles, @jjsfavgirl, @maraudersmyloves, @ruerecs, @excbambi, @redhead1180, @markno

This dynamic is very The Challengers and I need a 17k fic of it NOW

you think robb and theon ever share👀

OOOOOOO GOOD QUESTION

okay, so, if we’re being real, i don’t think robb would share his lady. theon probably wouldn’t either, BUT BUT BUT….

if you were a sw, or it was just casual, i could DEFINITELY see it. i honestly think they’d have an almost sort of rivalry… walk with me, anon. they’d like to show off to each other, like seeing who could make you cum the hardest, the most amount of times, the fastest etc. like you could be walking with theon down a hallway, and robb would walk past y’all, but not without pulling you towards him and just giving you the fattest, sloppiest smooch. he’d let you go, look theon in the eye, smirk, and walk away. then theon has to watch you try and regain your composure (you can’t) (you and theon find the nearest broom closet)

also (just a thought) since we’re talking pre-ramsey theon, he would so totally grope you. allllll the time.

You'll Be Safe - Chapter Four

WHILE THE POGUES KNEW THE SURGE HIT THE CUT THE HARDEST, THEY HADN’T EXPECTED TO FIND ANYTHING WORSE THAN WHAT THEY’D SEEN ALREADY. They had expected some water damage, sure. But some parts of the roofs fell into the rooms, tree branches scattered around the building, and even some doors had been knocked down. The motel’s sign that was initially on the roof was knocked to the lawn with one of the poles underneath a boat.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @dipperscavern, @instructionsnotincluded, @darlingchronicles, @jjsfavgirl, @maraudersmyloves, @ruerecs, @excbambi, @redhead1180, @markno

Only a Stark would get me off with a goddamn sword

cheeky anon here to slay the day - basically I was chatting to my friend abt Jon Snow and I was like 'yeah he's got a cool sword.... a cool.... sword....'

and then I started thinking abt Jon whipping Longclaw out whenever his girl is being bratty (obvs not in a stabby way) and just like... using the handle on her? 😭

'there's a good girl, not so rowdy now, are y'?'

idk bro im just a longwhore for longclaw

cheeky anon… you are such a genius for this. i am genuinely drooling. THE DIALOGUE? ITS SO ACCURATE? HELLO BECOME A WRITER

you’re pent up. frustrated that nothing has gone your way all day. you’re fidgeting, like you always do when you don’t know how to fix what’s bothering you. your usual solution is to busy yourself until you feel better, but it’s late at night. you can’t unwind, and even worse, you can’t distract yourself. jon eventually has enough of seeing you squirm.

he pulls you to his lap, and he knows what you need. it’s not long before you’re relaxing, sighing into his lips because gods, he’s fixing it. he’s still dressed, longclaw sheathed to his waistband — and that’s when he gets an idea. his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, and your clothed cunt bumps against longclaws handle. you sharply inhale, small sparks of pleasure coursing through you. you go to move off of the handle, embarrassed, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. you look up at him with parted lips, and you watch his pupils dilate.

“You trust me?”

you nod, and he moves to rearrange you both. he takes off his shirt, leaving him bare-chested as he leaves his bottom half covered, with longclaw still attached waist. you undress yourself, eager for relief, and whatever jon has in mind. you swallow, unsure, but he reaches out for you and pulls you to him. his hands find purchase on your hips as your lips connect, and slowly, he guides you against the handle — adjusting the angle to make it hit you just right. you whimper his name at the unfamiliar feeling, and jon feels blood instantly rush to his cock. you put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, burying your moans in the crook of his neck. warmth pools in your abdomen as longclaws handle catches on your pearl, and you hear jon’s voice close to your ear.

“There’s a good girl… not so rowdy now, are y’?”

you sigh, pleasure raking up your spine. jon bites back a groan at seeing your slick cover longclaws handle, and he watches your frustration melt away with every rock of your hips — his hands smoothing over any part of your skin he can reach. he hums at the way you melt into him.

“‘Js needed some help, huh?”

…Dippy…DIPPY — as if this WASNT the hottest thing I’ve read this week, you just HAD to end it with THIS LINE???

“Only once?”

No - definitely not only once, lord commander Snow. We’re goin’ as many times as possible so long as I BREATHE

I’m salivating and it’s not just cause of the garlic bread I’m toasting

can I be cheeky and ask for riding jon’s face 🫣🫣🫣

yes… oh yes you absolutely can….. i fell asleep last night to the thought of jon snow canonically being a munch (funny enough) — we’re on the same wavelength anon ! (written w shy!reader in mind)

you’ve heard the talk, heard the different ladies from different statures talk about “the act”, and it’s always a different answer. some say it’s mediocre… others, that it’s their favorite way to feel good, and some, say it’s terrible. you’ve heard stories of men never caring about the woman’s pleasure, and how their only purpose was to give them children. the thought made you shudder.

you, yourself, have never had time. time to freely choose who you trust enough to share that sacred experience with (or even touch yourself). the men at castle black are sworn to celibacy, and even if they would abandon their oath for a night with you, you wouldn’t let them. most of the men at the wall are untrustworthy, and you want more than just a quick fuck. even if these thoughts plague you, you’re too busy with your duties to worry about it. a thing you’ve since long accepted.

until jon snow.

you had been there for jon since his arrival at castle black. never batting an eye at his surname, always trying to make his life a little bit easier. there was also the stolen glances, the soft touches you both passed off as “accidental”, the longing for each other. you both remained as merely “close friends”, until things boiled over and you found solace in each others lips. it didn’t go farther than that, the tentative kiss being soft & exploring, and that was okay with you. you didn’t expect more. until you got more.

sometimes, you hate jon for being so easy to talk to. your shy nature has slowly melted away in his presence, and you find yourself unable to be embarrassed about the questions you ask or answer. your late night talks are what keeps jon sane. he wants to know everything about you, and you both would talk till morning if you could (you have before). the topic often shifts, landing on anything and everything on the planet. even “the act”.

imagine jon’s surprise, when the most beautiful & endearing woman he’s ever met drops her gaze to the floor and bashfully tells him she’s never cum before.

jon short circuits. he asks if you want to. he asks if he can make you. and you say yes.

jon snow is a giver. tasting a woman is a pleasure in itself, and he’d tell you as much if you asked. his mind ran a million miles an hour, thinking about all the ways he could make you feel good. it doesn’t take long before the desire to taste you takes a hold of him, and so he does.

“You’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him.. suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole. and it’s not just any man, it’s jon.

the soft glide of jon’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.”

“Jon-”

“Do you trust me?”

he’s steadfast in his reassurance. his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable?

“You know I do, but-“

“Good. Sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when jon takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. jon eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars.

jon thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips — whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“Jon, I’m-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak (or think). jon’s tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak.

you catch your breath, feeling jon kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch (as if he hasn’t been constantly on you), your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge.

you move to get off, to let him get up & breathe — but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak.

“Only once?”

Gods, it’s not even healthy how I know I’ll reject people IRL on the fact that they ARENT Robb Stark

can i just say i think robb stark is the type to randomly blurt out declarations of love. walk w me here

i think sometimes it just slips out. quiet admissions when you’re alone, your hands working the knots out of his shoulders after long days of fighting.

“oh, i love you. gods, i love you.”

while he drops his head down, overwhelmed with relief as his muscles release their tension by the second.

or when he’s deep in shit war-wise. he’s trapped, has no idea what to do, & is in his head about whether or not he can win this. he feels like he’s drowning, enemies on all sides.

until you’re there. hands gently running through his scalp, bringing memories of how his mother used to comfort him the same way as a child. you’re all soft tones & soothing words, offering solutions to the smaller problems that have been giving him headaches. he nods along as you talk, and he huffs out a breath of laughter. you pause in your speaking — wondering what he could be laughing at.

& he just drops his head down, running his hands along his face muttering-

“dear gods- what would i do without you?”