#cherry writes!

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Three days seemed to fly by in a blur. 

Most of the time you spent walking the courtyard, sitting in the library, or trying to tell the servants ‘I’m fine’ for the hundredth time. Jon made sure that you wanted for nothing and that you did not have to lift a single finger. You appreciated that, of course, but you wouldn’t get five minutes to breathe without someone coming in and asking you a million questions. 

Your wedding is tonight, at nightfall, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t terrified. Your previous conversation with Jon did help, but there was still so much unknown that you couldn’t wrap your head around. 

A sharp knock breaks the silence. Your head snaps up. 

Your head shoots up at the noise. You’ve been sitting in your chambers for about an hour, just staring at the wall. 

“Hello?” you call out

“My Lady, the seamstress has asked me to fetch you, the dress is complete.”

Ah, your wedding dress. You stand yourself up off the edge of the bed, and open the door. You see Lyessa standing there, she's the one who brings you your breakfast every morning.

“Thank you, Lyessa, after you”

You had been excited to see the dress. A few days ago, the seamstress took your measurements and scribbled down your ideas before waving you off like a child underfoot. A new dress had always brought you joy. The anticipation, the feel of fresh fabric against your skin, the moment you first saw it complete. Even this one. Even if it marked the end of the life you had imagined for yourself.

Lyessa opens the door and steps aside without a word.

And there it is, hung with care. By the gods, it’s beautiful.

You step closer, your fingers reaching out before you can think better of it. The fabric is soft beneath your touch, cool and smooth where it isn’t trimmed in fur.

The bodice is intricately embroidered with silver and white thread, delicate patterns that shimmer faintly in the light. The sleeves are long and fitted, ending in soft white fox fur at the wrists. The skirt falls heavy and full, lined with fur along the hem to guard against the northern cold. Practical, yes. But no less elegant for it.

“Do you like it?” The seamstress pops her head out from behind the long gown, a sewing needle in her mouth.

“I love it, so much” your words are breathless.You’ve never seen anything quite like this.

“Well, let's put it on.”

You wince a bit at how tight she pulls on the laces in the back, but you’re grateful the gown is warm. You don't want to freeze in the godswood tonight. The seamstress physically turns your body toward the mirror.

The gown fits around your body perfectly. Your fingers run over the small embroidered direwolf that sits on the collar of your dress. A small smile ghosts your lips. 

“How do I look?” you catch the seamstress's eyes in the mirror. 

“Like a queen.” 

Before you can respond, you're rushed away by three girls. You did not remember their names, but you know you’ve seen them before.

“My lady, we’re here to do your hair!” One of them speaks with a wide smile on her face 

You smile back at her kindly. This girl seemed far more excited for this wedding than you do. Probably because she is. 

You are sat down in a stool while the girl's fingers run through your hair, intricately braiding strands here and pinning others there. 

“Your Grace, your hair is beautiful”

Your breath catches at her words, the title lands heavier than you expect. “You don’t have to call me that just yet” you laugh nervously. 

“But we will in a few hours, why not start now?” the girl giggles, pinning the last piece of your hair into place.

You don’t know how the hell you’re going to manage being a queen. Jon said he would teach you everything you need to know, but some things can’t be taught. You’ve never had much grace. You were too excitable to sit still, and you can’t keep your mouth shut to save your life.

“And done! Tada!”

The girls step back together. Your hair has never looked better.

You tilt your head, trying to catch every angle in the mirror. “Thank you, ladies. So much.”

“Your Grace,” they say in unison as they curtsey, then leave you alone with your thoughts.

You’re not sure what happens next. And you definitely don’t want to wander the halls and risk Jon seeing you before the ceremony. That would be bad luck, and you need all the luck you can get.

You stand up from the stool and turn slightly in front of the mirror, watching the skirt shift and sway around your feet.

You freeze at the sound of your name.

Sansa.

“You look beautiful,” she says. Her eyes are shining, and there’s a wide smile on her face. She doesn’t smile as much as she used to, but you’re glad she still smiles at you.

“Thank you,” you reply softly. Your hands curl into fists at your sides. Nervous habit.

“How are you feeling? And don’t lie to me.” She crosses the room and takes your hand in hers.

“Scared,” you admit. “I don’t know why.”

She looks at you with those gentle eyes. Normally, you hate when people look at you that way. But not Sansa. With her, it feels different.

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

Your heart drops. Talking about how nervous you are feels wrong, especially to her. After everything she’s survived, marrying Jon shouldn't scare you. It should be easy.

“Oh, Sansa. I’m sorry. You don’t have to listen to me.”

She hushes you, her fingers still wrapped around yours.

“But this isn’t what you wanted,” she says. “I know what you wanted.”

Your eyes fill with tears. “It wasn’t going to work for me,” you whisper. “And I think that’s okay.”

She rests her head gently on your shoulder. The quiet comfort brings a smile to your face.

“You’re going to make a wonderful queen,” she says. “And an even better wife. Jon will be good to you. He’s kind and loving. He would let the world burn before letting anything happen to you. That, I promise.”

She lifts her head to look you in the eye.

“Good. I’m glad you’re crying now, before they come in to do your makeup.”

You sniffle and let out a soft laugh. Her words warm your chest. It really will be okay.

The door opens again, and a new woman steps inside.

“Your Grace, I’m here to do your makeup.”

You wipe your eyes quickly and give her a small smile.

“Hm. Your Grace,” Sansa teases. “I’m not calling you that.”

“Oh yes you will. And I’ll make you curtsy when you do.”

You both laugh as you squeeze her hand.

“I have to go now,” she says. “But if you need me, send for me. I’ll come right away.”

You squeeze her hand again and watch as she slips out the door.

“Sorry about that,” you say to the makeup artist, settling back onto the stool.

After sitting for what felt like an eternity, your makeup was finally done. You look in the mirror and smile. You look really good. 

“Thank you, so much” you smile at the woman.

“Your Grace.” she curtsies and walks out, leaving you alone once again. 

You wish your family could be here. Your real family, not the imposters who showed up the day you moved into the reach. You yearn for the woman your mother used to be. She would have scooped you up right here and whispered into your ear until you calmed down. She would have encouraged you to marry Jon because he was a good man, not because of any so-called ‘duty’ as a woman. You remind yourself that she's not there anymore. That woman is gone.

“Your Grace, It’s time”

Your head whips to the door. Lyessa is standing there with her hands clasped in front of her and a soft smile on her face. “You look like the most beautiful queen that has ever lived. Now let us get this cloak on you.” You had almost forgotten, she places the cloak around your shoulders. Your maiden cloak was white with a yellow centaur, wielding a bow and arrow on it. The crest of House Caswell. 

You stand and smile at her genuinely. “Thank you Lyessa” you walk behind her out towards the godswood. 

Your breath catches when you see the long stretch of lanterns, they illuminate the path to the weirwood tree. Jon stands in front of it, with Sansa next to him. On either side of the path are many lords and ladies. Some you recognize, and some you don’t. They all know who you are though. You feel a presence next to you. 

“I haven’t seen you since your ninth name day.” 

“Uncle!” you laugh and envelop him in a tight hug. Your mothers younger brother, Lord Dustin of Barrowtown stood next to you. You’ve never been happier to see someone you hardly knew. 

“You need a family member to escort you down the aisle. Your mother wrote to me. I heard the king was getting married, but I had no idea it was you.”

Your heart warms at his words. Your mother wrote to him. You take a steady breath and wrap your arm around his. “Let's do this.”

Your uncle starts to walk you down the path, you turn your head to look at the crowd watching, offering small smiles. You turn your eyes ahead, offering a small smile to Jon. 

Your uncle stops before the tree, and looks to Sansa. 

“Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?” Sansa speaks softly, looking at your Uncle.

Your uncle speaks your name, placing a hand on your arm. “Who has come to claim her?”

Jon steps forward, his eyes never leaving you. “Jon Snow of House Stark. King in the North” he looks to your uncle “Who gives her away?”

Your uncle speaks “Her uncle, Harrion Dustin, Lord of Barrowtown.” He looks at you and offers you a small squeeze before stepping off to the side. 

Sansa turns her attention to you “Do you accept this man?”

You breathe softly “I do”

Sansa smiles at you and steps to the side. It is just you and Jon in front of the tree now, and he's looking at you. 

“You look so beautiful” He whispers at you and takes your hands, standing you in front of him. 

“Thank you” you whisper back, gazing at the weirwood tree, before looking back at Jon. 

You and Jon kneel before the tree, still hand in hand. Jon starts to speak.

“I am yours, and you are mine. From this day until my last day. I will stand by you in snow and storm, in silence or in war. I will keep no secrets from you, and I will not turn away. You are my home now, and I am yours. Before the Old Gods, I swear it.” He looks so deeply in your eyes, you’re afraid he can see your very soul. His words make your heart beat fast, and heat creeps up to your cheeks. 

It’s your turn to speak. You take in a deep breath before continuing. “I am not quick with trust, nor gentle with my words. But what I give, I give truly. My loyalty is not light, and my silence is never empty. I will speak when it matters, I will stand when others flee, And I will meet you where you are, In snow, in storm, in silence. I am yours. And I will not falter. Before the Old Gods, I swear it.”

Jon's hands tighten around yours as he smiles at your words. He leans in and kisses you softly. You feel like your head is about to explode. You have no idea what to do, so you keep your head still. He pulls back and rises, helping you up next to him. 

Wordlessly he removes your maiden cloak, and places another one upon your shoulders. A white cloak with a direwolf on it, the Stark crest. 

You turn around to look at him. He's already looking at you with a big smile. 

“Are you ready?” He speaks softly. You give him a nod and he lifts you up into his arms, walking you both into the Great Hall as the guests follow, cheering behind you. 

You and Jon sit at the head table at the very front of the great hall. You had forgotten how noisy northern weddings were, but you weren’t complaining. 

“How do you feel?” Jon whispers in your ear, a smile on his face. 

“I feel pretty good, I think.” You smile back at him softly. You fiddle with your fingers, absentmindedly trying to quell your nerves. Your eyes look over to the cup next to Jon. “What are you drinking?”

“Ale. Would you like a sip?” Jon eyes you for a moment. “Your father isn’t here to shout at you.” He laughs softly. 

You take the cup and bring it to your lips. Your nose crinkles in disgust. “That is not good.” you start to laugh.

Jon laughs at your face “People don’t drink it for the taste. You get used to it.”

Your head shakes “I will not.” 

“I have someone I would like you to meet, follow me” Jon stands and takes your hand. Helping you off the chair. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world.” He blurts out, staring at you.

You stand up and face him, your cheeks heating at his words. You can’t seem to even have a coherent thought. “Uh um thank you.” You finally spit out. 

Jon looks at you for another moment before walking, bringing you over to a couple. A young man with the kindest face you’ve ever seen, a very pretty woman, and the cutest toddler in her arms. 

Jon introduces you to the small family. “This is my best friend Samwell Tarly, his wife Gilly Tarly, and their son little Sam.”

You smile widely at the family and coo at little Sam. 

“It's so nice to meet you, Your Grace.” Gilly looks at you with a smile and tries to curtsy with the small boy in her arms

“Oh no please, you don't need to call me that.” You smile at her and give her your name. “Any friend of Jon's is a friend of mine.”

Gilly and Sam smile at you and give a small look to Jon. A look at you miss because you’re too busy staring at little Sam.

“Would you like to hold him?” Gilly asks, extending her arms out to you.

You hardly let her finish before you grab the small boy with a smile on your face. “Oh hello there, handsome guy!” You coo at him with little giggles, and your heart melts when he smiles up at you and nuzzles into your arms. Your head turns back up to Sam “I just love children” 

Sam smiles at you and looks over at Jon “I am so happy for you.”

Jon pats him on the arm and goes in for a hug. His eyes are still staring at you and little Sam. You were a natural, the way you held him and spoke to him. He would be lying if he said the thought of you doing that with his children one day didn’t make his pants tighten, but he quickly pushed that aside. 

“Thank you both so much for coming.” You look up at the couple. “I know it is a long journey from home. I’m from the Reach as well.”

Sam looks at you, confused. “I thought you were from the North?”

You smile at him. “I was born up north, but my father inherited his ancestral home in The Reach not long after my ninth name day. Lord Caswell.” 

Sam's face falters at your words slightly. “Oh, I have heard of him.”

You stifle a laugh “You don’t need to be polite, Sam, I know my father is an ass.” 

Jon laughs at your unexpected words, and Sam looks relieved “Mine was too, so I understand.” 

Little Sam starts to fuss in your arms, you almost begrudgingly hand him back to Gilly with a smile. ”He is the cutest little boy I think I’ve ever seen.”

Gilly beams at your compliment.

“We will leave you both to it, congratulations Your Graces.” Sam, Gilly, and little Sam walk away after bidding you both a small smile. You turn to Jon. 

“He was so cute, did you see his little face?” You gush

“Aye, I was there when he was born.” Jon nods. “Very cute.”

You look around the room, catching the eyes of the various Lords and Ladies that you hadn’t seen in years. “There are so many people here” you lean in and whisper to Jon.

He nods, looking around as well. “They’re here to meet the new queen.” 

Something about his words make you shiver. He places a hand on your back, guiding you to the main table. He pulls out your chair before taking a seat. 

A thought crosses your mind and you turn nervously to Jon. “There is not going to be a bedding ceremony, right?” You’ve only seen one, your cousin. You were about six years old. The very thought frightens you. 

Jon shakes his head. “No, I would not allow that to happen.” His voice is serious

“Okay” you sigh, relieved “Good.” you glance at Jon again, words hovering on your lips. 

“And, you haven’t changed your mind about tonight, right?” When you first spoke, Jon had told you that you did not need to worry about the wedding night. He would not lay a hand on you that you did not want.

Jon's eyes soften at you “Of course not. I haven’t changed my mind, have you?”

You shake your head at him “I don’t think so.”

He smiles at you, and places his larger hand over yours. 

“But, uh, they do say it is bad luck for a marriage, when the bride and groom spend their wedding night apart.” You stutter out nervously, looking away from Jon.

He smiles at you, his own heart racing. “Well we can’t have that.” 

The party drags on for a while, various noble people coming up to your table and congratulating you both. Happy to have a queen, hoping for little princes and princesses soon. Your cheeks glow at their words. This goes on and on for hours. 

“Do you want to stay?” Jon leans down at you, a smile gracing his lips. 

“Do you?” You ask back.

“No” he states “I’m so tired” 

You giggle “Then lets go, before someone notices we’re gone”

With that, Jon takes your hand and leads you to his chambers. 

“I had someone bring a nightgown in for you” He smiles softly.

You can feel the heat in your ears at this point. “Thank you” you look around the room a bit “do you think you could?”

“Oh, sorry.” Jon turns around, giving your privacy to take off your large and presumably heavy wedding gown. 

“Jon” you whisper sheepishly “I can’t undo these tortuous laces”

“Let me help” he turns around, almost instantly finding your back. He starts to untie. He feels guilty for looking, but he can’t help it, every lace he loosens reveals more of your back. The skin he dreamed of as a child. You feel the gown loosen enough to be slipped off and give him a small “thank you”. You turn your head to make sure he turns around again, before slipping the gown off and stepping into your nightgown. “Okay, you can look now” you mutter softly “I’m too lazy to take my hair down just yet” 

Jon looks at you, and he's mesmerized. You are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And now you’re his. 

“What are you looking at?” you ask sheepishly, feeling unsteady on your own feet. 

“You. You look beautiful.” he states, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I’m in a nightgown, it's a piece of white fabric.” You say shyly, trying to laugh off his intense stare. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re in it.” Your face feels like it's going to explode. 

There's a small knock at the door, Jon finally takes his eyes off you. You feel like you can breathe. You hear a small conversation, and Jon closes the door again. Holding two glasses, and two metal pitchers. 

“I had them bring us some Ale…and wine for your southern taste” He says with a smile, and places them on the small table.

“Nothing about me is southern” you pout “You can take the girl out of the North, but you can’t take the North out of the girl.”

Jon laughs and pulls out a chair “Come here”

You take a seat and watch him sit down across from you, pouring you a glass of wine and pouring himself ale. 

You and Jon sit for hours, exchanging stories and laughing loudly. 

“Jon, I think the wine is getting to me” you giggle out, your face warm. 

“You’re drunk” Jon says back with a goofy smile on his face.

“So are you!” you laugh loudly “My husband is a bad influence on me.”

Jon's eyes are soft when he looks at you. “And my wife is a lightweight”

You smile at him. “Jon, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Do people kiss regularly, or is it a special occasion type of thing?”

Jon blinks a few times at your question, you continue.

“The only time I’ve seen people kiss are at weddings. But in a book I read, the husband and wife kiss all the time.”

Jon smiles at you softly “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Jon thinks to himself for a moment

People in love kissed often, didn’t they? He wouldn’t know, but he doubted anyone in Westeros wanted to kiss their wife as badly as he did right now

“It depends on how they feel about each other.” 

You nod softly, in thought. The drunk flush is still prevalent on your cheeks. 

“If I wanted to kiss you… would that be okay?” you ask, barely louder than a breath.

Jon doesn’t answer right away. He just stands, closes the space between you, and gently lifts you into his arms, settling you in his lap as he sits again.

“That would be more than okay.”

You gasp softly at the closeness, then lean in and kiss him.

Jon kisses you back, and places his hand on the side of your face.

You try to mirror his actions, the way he moves his lips against you. Your kiss is clumsy, you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re doing. His heart swells. He pulls away, his hands still cradling your face. You’re still sat in his lap. 

“Now I’ll be expecting at least one of those every day” He muses at you, and kisses your forehead softly.

“Okay, I can do that.” You smile at him. 

Jon seems lost in thought for a moment before looking down at you in his arms. “What kind of books are you reading?” 

You blink at him “Just books” you try and shrug it off. “I spent a lot of time in the library these past few days”

He smiles again “Books where the husband and wife are what, just kissing all the time?” 

Your mouth goes dry at his words “yes, and that is all.”

Jon raises his eyebrow, he knows what those books are. Romance novels about a princess and a knight, they fuck and marry and everyone lives happily ever after. A part of him aches at the thought of you learning these things from something other than him. 

He knows you’re untouched.

it’s obvious in the way you blush, the way you stumble over words. What he doesn’t yet understand is just how innocent you really are.

“Why are you reading those books?” Jon asks thoughtfully, trying to understand.

“To learn” you look around, anywhere but him, as you’re held tightly in his lap. 

“Learn what?” Jon asks. He can see the flush in your face, and feel your heart beating. 

“Things I don’t know.” you swallow

“Well yes, that’s what learning is.” Jon laughs a bit. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“Jon, I told you I don’t know how to be a wife. I don’t know the things.” You sputter out.

“And I told you I’d teach you, didn’t I?” Jon’s fingers gently lifted your chin, coaxing your eyes to meet his.

You nodded, a shaky breath slipping past your lips.

“What do you know about it?” He asked softly, careful not to frighten you, though he couldn’t ignore how close you were, or how that closeness unsettled him more than he expected.

You fidgeted with your hands, voice barely above a whisper. “I know... that a man enters his wife, and that’s how she gets pregnant.”

Jon considered your words carefully. “That’s true,” he said slowly, “but there’s more to it than that. It’s a way for two people to share something close and to be together, not just to make children.”

Your cheeks flamed hot at his words. “I thought it was supposed to hurt?”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile, his gaze steady and gentle. “The first time can be painful, yes. But after that, it’s different. And there are ways to be close that don’t always mean... entering.”

Heat pooled low in your belly, leaving you breathless. Your mouth opened and closed for a moment before you whispered, “Like what?”

Jon swallows the lump in his throat, one hand still on your face and the other has moved to your hip. “You can use your hands.” he looks down at you. “On each other” 

You instinctively squeeze your thighs together at his words, the feeling is foreign to you. 

Jon catches your movement out of the corner of his eye. A small smile crosses his face. “Do you want me to show you?” His voice comes out husky, his eyes are dark. 

Your breath hitches for a moment, the aching feeling between your legs grows stronger with his words. You nod.

With that, Jon kisses you again. Not as soft as last time, but he's still careful. He smiles against your lips before pulling away. “At any point if you want this to stop, just say the word.” His eyes get serious as he's looking at you. “I promise, I’m not going to be upset.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath after that kiss, you nod at him, understanding. 

Jon moves your body on his lap so that your back is pressed to his chest, and your legs are hooked over top of his. “I’m just going to touch your legs now, warm you up, is that alright?”

Your heart is beating so fast, your head spins a bit. “Yes, that's alright.” Your voice breaks as you say it, but you’re eager. 

He starts to slide his hands up and down your legs softly, pushing up your nightgown to your mid thighs. Wherever he touches he leaves behind a wake of goosebumps on your skin. It makes you shiver. He kisses up your neck softly. A low, almost silent moan falls off your lips. 

Jon removes his lips from your neck and slides them up to your ear. “Does that feel good?” 

You nod quickly, you’re too lost in the feeling of his hands and lips to be shy. 

He removes his hand from your legs, and stops kissing your neck. You whine at the sensation loss. “Use your words.”

His words send a chill down your spine. You turn your head to look at him, mouth parted and face flushed. “Yes, it feels good” your voice is hesitant. 

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Good.” His lips are back on your neck in an instant. He uses his legs to spread yours, his hands lightly touching your inner thigh. Your eyes flutter closed.

Jon ghosts his hand over your clothed core, eyeing your face and trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are twisted closed, you’re practically panting. “You’re doing so good for me” 

Something about his praise drives you crazy. A whimper escapes your lips. You’re hot and needy, and he keeps lightly touching you. “Jon, please.” you wine out, trying to push your hips toward his hands. 

It takes everything in him not to bend you over and fuck you on the chair. There you are… sitting in his lap, begging for his hands to touch you. He’s the only man to offer you this pleasure, the only man to hear your sweet little moans. The realization is driving him crazy. He places his hand firmly against your pussy, the corners of his mouth twitch at the way your body shivers. “Is it alright if I put my hand beneath your smallclothes?” his voice is husky in your ear. 

The pressure from his still hand feels good, but it’s not enough. You’re hungry and searching for more, even though you don’t exactly know what it is. “Yes” you spit out between sharp breaths “Yes, please.”

Jon plants a kiss on the spot below your ear. He mentally notes the way you shudder as he hooks his fingers into the side of your undergarments, before pulling them down. He slides them all the way to your ankles, and tosses them somewhere in the room. “Look at me”

You turn your head towards him. The anticipation is thick in the air as you both stare at each other, the only sound being your heavy breaths. Jon's eyes are locked on yours, as he slides his hand back up your thigh, painfully slow. 

“Jon” you whine out. “Please”

He smiles softly at you, his hand stopping right below your aching pussy. “Please what?”

You look away from him, your fingers are digging into his shoulder. “Touch me.”

He stares at you for a moment, loving the sounds of your breathless pleas for him to continue. He almost wants to tease you more, to make you describe exactly what you want him to do, but he knows that would be too mean. You’re being so good, he wants to give you everything. 

Jon slides his hand all the way up, he slips a finger between your folds. He can’t stop the smirk on his lips when he feels how wet you are. Gods - you’re soaking. 

A soft sigh falls off your tongue, your eyes travel down in between your spread legs, watching his finger.

“Do you see that?” Jon lifts his finger, soaked in your arousal, up to your face. “Do you see how wet I made you?”

Your mouth opens and closes, eyes locked onto his finger, cheeks flushed. You look at him and nod.

Jon kisses you again, soft and sweet, his lips move slowly against yours as he moves his hand back to your aching core, this time he slips two fingers between your folds, pushing gently against your clit.

You gasp against his lips, it feels so odd, and so good. You whine out his name.

Jon keeps the pressure, but moves in soft circles. “Hows that?” he says your name, and uses his free hand to softly grab your chin. 

“S’ good” you moan out soft, your voice is a whisper. Your body is hot and achy. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. 

Jon changes direction, moving his fingers up and down. “Which one does my little wife like better?” His voice is almost teasing, but he's being sincere. He's studying your body. 

Your back arches slightly, whimpers tumbling out. “Other one” you mumble out, barely coherent. 

Jon switches back to rubbing his fingers in circles, this time applying more pressure. You’re so sensitive. He can feel the way your clit twitches under his fingers, he groans into your ear. 

You start to shake under his touch, your legs twitch, and you feel restless. 

“Jon” you don’t even know what you’re saying. Your hands dig into his bicep, hard.

Jon's eyes are locked onto you, scanning every part of your face. His gaze is hot and intense.

Jon's movements are precise and relentless. He’s searching for something.

You feel like you’re slipping out of reality, your breaths get ragged and your legs start to shake. “Jon” you swallow, huffing “Jon” his name falls off your lips like a prayer. 

Jon hums into your ear, and plants soft open mouth kisses on your neck, his hand moving at a steady pace. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your eyes widen slightly as your body twitches. “It’s good” your face flushes.

“I’m going to need more than that, my queen” 

You can feel him smirking into the crook of your neck. His deep voice makes his chest rumble, and you can feel it in your back. 

You whine out, soft. “Feels good Jon” your body twitches, almost violently. “I don’t know” you gasp out breaths “Feels weird”. The words are falling out of your mouth. 

“Good” Jon slides his free hand under your nightgown and up your stomach. He cups your breast, gently. 

Your breath catches in your mouth. Your body squirms, hips rubbing softly against the hardness in his pants. 

Jon groans at the friction, and you immediately still yourself. 

He picks his head up from your neck to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay, it felt good.” 

Your face warms, soft whines still falling from your lips. You start moving yourself against him again. 

“Fuck” his breath is hot against your ear. He gently tugs at your nipple under your gown, and his hand starts rubbing faster. You swear you can see stars. 

“Oh gods” your hips stutter, a string of moans falls from your lips as your head drops back onto his chest. 

“Keep moving like that against me.” Jon's soft command has you nodding your head, you continue to pull and push your hips at a steady pace. Your movement has you grinding into his hand, still rubbing fast circles against you. 

“Jon” you’re gasping for air at this point. You can’t seem to pull a coherent thought out of your head. 

He moves his hand to your other breast, pinching and pulling your nipple softly. The sounds that fall from your lips are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He wasn’t fool enough to think he deserved peace. Not after everything. But when he looked at you… it felt like a glimpse of something holy. Like the gods were showing him what he’d never earn. 

“Fuck!” you choke out, your hips start moving wildly, losing your rhythm. “Fuck Jon it feels weird.”

He doesn’t relent. His hand moved from your breast to your him, moving you back and forth. His other hand is still rubbing quick circles on your clit. “That wasn’t very lady like” his deep voice shakes in your ear, you can hear the smirk on his face. You’re too far gone to even comprehend what he’s saying. 

A string of curses fall from your lips, there's a pressure building in your stomach. A string getting tighter and tighter until it-

“Jon!” you almost yell, body convulsing. 

“There it is.” His hand continues to rub circles, riding you through your orgasm. He takes his hand off your hip allowing your body to still. 

Whimpers come out of your mouth, until you slump against him. 

“Are you alright?” His voice holds some concern as he removes his hand from under your nightgown. He eyes his fingers for a moment. They're soaked.

“Yeah, I um, yeah” you stutter out, eyes closed. You feel so limp. 

Jon kisses down your neck softly, taking a deep breath in. He fights the urge to pop his fingers into his mouth, wanting to taste you. He knows he’ll get that soon enough. He rubs his hand on his trousers. 

You shift on his lap, and eyes widen as your bottom hits something hard. You blink softly. “Is that um” you stutter out. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles into your neck. 

You look at him and swallow. A wave of utter awkwardness and shame washes over you. 

Jon says your name, catching your attention. He's looking at you now. It’s like he can read your mind. “You’re my wife.” his hands move to your shoulders. “That was normal, and it was good. You did so well.” 

You nod your head softly. “Felt good” you mumble. 

Jon smiles “Good. That’s all I want.” His eyes scan your face. “It's late, we should get some rest.” With that he stands up with you in his arms, and walks you over to the bed. 

You bounce against the pillows softly, suddenly nervous about sleeping next to him. The man was whispering into your ear as he rubbed you, but the thought of sleeping next to him scared you. You almost laugh at yourself. 

“I’ve got to change into my night clothes.” Jon is standing over you.

You scramble to turn over, facing the wall. 

He chuckles lightly as he hooks his fingers into the waist of his pants. He clenches his jaw when it catches on his painfully hard erection. 

You’re facing the wall, fingers playing with the hem of the furs on the bed. You feel a dip behind you, you turn over. 

“Jon” you whisper at him, as he gets himself comfortable. 

“Yes?” he looks over at you, eyes swimming with something you don’t quite recognize. 

“Was I, okay?” you look away from him, worried. You feel a hand on your face. 

“You were perfect.” he tilts his head to the side, looking at you. You nod. 

“Goodnight.” Your eyes meet him again with a soft smile. 

294 AC ( 4 years before The Starks left Winterfell) 

 You burst out of your castle doors, huffing and angry, a little lady who has just celebrated her ninth name day. 

“I do not wish to go mama!” You stamp your feet  

“Well that is too bad. In the carriage you go” 

Your mom, First born of Lord Dustin, smiles down at you

“I hate long rides! And I detest the way Cley smells when we are cooped up in this carriage!”

Your little brother, Cley, punches you in the arm. You return the hit with a slap, soon the two of you are rolling in the snow 

“What in Gods name is going on down here?”

Your heads snap up to see your father, walking out of the castle trying to hide the smile on his face

It always made you laugh, seeing his face when the courtyard was busy. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Nothing, father” you say innocently as you remove your grip on Cley. 

 He was born in the Reach, the second son to Lord Caswell. As life goes, second sons do not receive much in life. Caswell is a noble house, yes, but not noble enough to have multiple holds for the picking. He knew this, his whole life he knew this. He met your mother when he was ten and six, and they married. He moved up north to Barrow Hall to become Lord of Barrowtown, mama by his side. 

“Lord Stark has called for all the houses to gather for a feast, you will go. Besides, aren’t you excited to see Lady Sansa again?” Father smiles down at you softly 

Truly, you did want to see Sansa, she had been your friend for many years. Distance kept you apart but as soon as you both could write, you sent Ravens to each other often. 

A soft ‘fine’ escapes your lips as you stomp your way into the carriage.

 “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we-”

Your head snaps to your brother, eyes narrow “Cley I am going to kill you”

Your parents say your name with a gasp, shocking and scolding 

“What kind of lady speaks that way?” Your mother slaps your hand softly “You will not embarrass us in front of Lord and Lady Stark”

“Yes mama” you groan out softly. Your face lightens up when you see Winterfell in the distance, excitement coursing through you.

 It feels like an eternity when the carriage finally comes to a halt. You climb over your mother and father, practically falling out of the carriage doors. Your Father tries to wrangle you back but it is too late. You had your eyes on Sansa. The Stark family was lined up in the courtyard, ready to politely receive their guests, you could spot that red hair from a mile away

“SANSA!” you shout out running towards her, she sees your head pop up from the carriage and runs towards you, shouting your name. You meet in the middle, giggles filling the courtyard as your Mother, Father, and brother file out of the carriage. 

Your father steps forward, giving a small bow to Lord Stark 

“Apologies, My Lord, she's been talking about lady Sansa the whole ride”

Lord Ned Stark smiles softly “That is quite alright Lord Dustin, my daughter has been doing the same. You know they write to each other?" Ned asks with a small smile. 

Your father nods with a small laugh “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am the one who spell checks them mostly” 

Your mother and brother politely go down the line, bidding hello to the Starks. Your father calls for you, and you walk over to him.

“Do not be rude” he tells you, his eyes warning as you walk over to Lord and Lady Stark with a curtsey 

“Hello!” you smile softly as you look at them, they return your smile.

“Hello little Lady, you’ve grown since I’ve last seen you” Lord Stark gives you a pat on the head.

You walk over and curtsey politely to the rest of the Stark children; Robb, Arya, and Bran. You then quickly turn on your heels and run towards Sansa, giggling hand in hand. Your father shakes his head 

“Congratulations are in order for you both” Your mother says as she gestures to Catelyn's pregnant belly.

Catelyn smiles “We’re thinking of naming him Rickon”

 Sansa is practically dragging you through the castle. 

“I have so many things to show you” she giggles over her shoulder. You huff and puff behind her, following quickly. She takes a sharp corner and-

“Ow ow ow” you fall on your bottom. You slammed into a wall, hissing on your way down.

“Sansa you should watch where you drag me-” you look up and your sentence catches in your throat. A boy, no more than ten and one sits on the floor in front of you, dazed and confused. You think he might be the most handsome boy in the world. 

“I- I am so sorry” you scramble to your feet embarrassed, you look to Sansa for some help but she's just glaring at the boy

She calls your name softly “Come on, let us go”

You look at the boy again, this time he has a small smile on his face.

“You should watch where you’re running” 

His voice makes you blush and your heart soars. You can't muster up any words so you just nod and walk to follow behind Sansa. Once you both enter her chambers and the door closes, you look at her.

“Who was that?” 

You try to keep your cool, but the look on your face spills all your secrets. Sansa's eyes narrow.

“My fathers bastard” she speaks coldly, you’ve never seen her like that.

“Oh”

You’ve heard of the bastard of Winterfell, but you’ve never seen him. You hardly knew what a bastard was anyway, you knew his parents weren’t married when he was born but no one seemed to explain anything to you further. 

“How does one have a bastard anyway?” you ask thoughtfully at Sansa, and she blinks.

“I don't know, I never asked.” She replies back thoughtfully. The two of you play in her room until the servants come get you. The feast is about to begin.

You and Sansa enter the great hall together, she takes her place at the main table and you scan the room to find your family. Your eyes fall on your brother's stupid face, and you take a seat at the table. Your father turns to you.

“There you are! Did you have fun with Lady Sansa?”

“Father, how does one have a bastard?” your fathers eyes widen as he chokes on his wine “What?”

You cock your head at him, asking genuinely

“Well if babies in a mama's belly are gifts from the gods for when you get married, how does one get a bastard?” Your mother throws her hand on her face.

“No more questions, eat your dinner” your mom says quietly. You nod and take a bite of your bread. Scanning the room for the boy you met.

Your father catches your eye. “What are you looking for?”

“A boy I saw earlier” you reply back softly.

Your parents exchange amused glances.

“I bumped into him in the hall when Sansa was leading me around. He is very handsome.” you take another bite of bread.

Your mother smiles softly “Did Lady Sansa know who the boy was?”

you nod “Yes, she said he was her fathers bastard” you take another bite.

Your mother and fathers faces drop, no longer amused

“No.” Your fathers tone is serious, your brother Cley starts to laugh. You pinch him under the table.

“No, what?” you furrow your brow confused “I am just looking for him”

“No. No more looking for him, and no more talking to him.” There's a finality in his voice that you have heard from him before, and you do not like it. He speaks again

“It is the same thing as that butcher's boy. No”

Your face twists at his words. You liked that butcher's boy, he was handsome and nice, your father forbade you from playing with him.

“Well that was stupid and this is stupid.” you huff and cross your arms 

“You will mind your manners, I am your father.” you grumble a bit but let it go, Cley laughs across from you.

“Stupid girl, you’re supposed to be a lady” you kick him roughly under the table. Your father rises from the table to mingle with the other lords, and you sit and pout. 

“Mama, I am going to see Sansa” she waves you off with a small smile.

The grand hall is very full, Northern Lords and Ladies gathered all in this room, you use it to your vantage and slip out. You walk through the castle halls, standing on the overhang that looks down at the courtyard. There he is, shirtless and hitting a sparring dummy with his sword.

“Hey” you call out with a smile and he quickly looks up at the noise. Heat creeps up your face, You’ll be in big trouble if your father finds out you're here. He smiles at you softly.

“Whats your name?” he asks from below, he already knows it. He’s known you for a long while. You giggle and give it to him. “Ah, Lord Dustin's daughter” he nods thoughtfully 

“And yours?” you call back

“Jon,” he says with a smile. A small blush dusts his cheeks. He's young, ten and one, and he thinks for a moment that you are the kindest girl he’s ever met. Surely the prettiest.

“I have no go now” you giggle “I don’t want my father to know I’ve gone” with that you slip away into the great hall. Jon thinks about you for the rest of the night. 

The next morning it was time to return home to Barrowtown, you and Sansa blubber in each other's arms, promising to write at every opportunity. Lord Stark and your father shake hands, smiling at the two of you. You climb halfway into the carriage and see Jon, brooding in the distance. You offer him a quick smile and a wave, one he returns subtly. Your parents do not catch this small gesture, but Ned Stark does. 

 The minute the carriage pulls into the gates of Barrow Hall, there is commotion. Your father hops out quickly to see what is going on.

“My Lord, a letter from Bitterbridge arrived this morning” Your fathers brows furrow in confusion “Is it from my brother?” he asks, and grabs the small parchment from the servants hands. His eyes scanned the pages and mouth dropped open.

“What is it?” your mother asks, soft and gentle

“My brother is dead” Your father tries to hide the small smile from creeping up on his face. He detested his brother. He knows that Bitterbridge was his birthright, As the eldest son of Lord Caswell, of course he would become Lord Caswell. But your father felt he never deserved it, never took it seriously. When your parents moved up North, to claim your mothers ancestral home and family name, your father and uncle never spoke again. 

“He has no children” Your father clears his throat “After all these years, he refused to marry. Died in drunken stupor. They say he fell down the stairs trying to find his chambers.” Your family exchanges glances softly. There's a look in your fathers eyes that you do not recognize. 

“How long until the funeral” you ask, soft and sad. You did not know your uncle, but your heart hurt a bit. 

“I do not know” your father replies curtly “But I am the last surviving heir of House Caswell and we must go”

Silence falls over your mother, brother, and you. 

“What about my house? House Dustin?” your mother asks her hand shaking. 

Your fathers face seems almost unrecognizable. His usual kindness replaced by something else. “You have a younger brother.” His words were cold and direct to your mother. “It belonged to him by birthright anyway.”

You did not want to go to the Reach, this was your home, where you were born. Before you could protest your father was calling for the guards to send word to your mothers brother, the new Lord Dustin of Barrowtown and to pack our things. You hang your head. You’ll write to Sansa when you get there. 

 307 AC (2 years after the night king was defeated)

 “My lady” you feel a soft shake on your arm as you blink your eyes open “Happy name day”. You smile at the girl next to you and sit up in bed “Thank you, Margaret”. She was your ladies maid, and the kindest girl you ever knew. 

“Your father requested your presence in the great room” you groan aloud at her words and she smiles apologetically.

you throw your legs off the bed and rub your eyes. “Let me guess, another marriage proposal?” you look at her, disdain in your voice.

She smiles shyly in response. “Lets get you ready”. 

 Your shoes clacking on the stones echo through the halls of Bitterbridge castle, walking through the doors of the great room. Your eyes land on your father, he is waiting for you.

“You’re late.” His voice booms slightly. Power changed your father, the kind and insecure man became rough, and cruel.

“Forgive me, father, I had just woken up.” you say back, voice flat. “Where is mother?”. 

After leaving the North your mother had retreated into herself, kind and gentle became cold and empty. You can count the times she's smiled in the last 13 years on your hand. She left you to fend for yourself against your fther and brother. 

He ignores your question and continues on “It is your name day. A woman of twenty and two, do you wish to spit on our family name by becoming a lowly spinster?” his eyes narrow

You roll your eyes at him. Remembering the proposals that had started flooding in when you were just ten and four. Some of them were cruel, old, or just not right. Not that it mattered anyway, you did not wish to be shipped off to a foreign place where you have no name, no power, and expected to spit out heirs half a second after you arrive. 

“I wish to become The Lady Caswell” you spit back, having this same conversation for years. The thought of leaving the smallfolk of Bitterbridge alone one day with your brother made you sick. They were good people, you love those people. 

“The King in the North has sent word, he is inviting unwed Noble ladies to the Castle. He wishes to marry.” your father says directly “I am coming with you, to ensure you behave yourself. I will not let an incident occur like the one that happened with Lord Cole”. You have to choke back a smile at those words. Lord Cole was an idiot, so you simply acted like you were insane until he retracted his proposal. 

Your heart does swell at the thought of seeing Sansa again, the last letter you received from her was 9 years ago. She told you about how she was to marry the prince Joffery, you could almost hear her excitement off the pages. You hadn’t heard from her again. You swallow, thinking of Lord Stark and young Rob, they were good people, very kind to you and your family. You shake the thoughts out of your head and look up at your father. “I don’t wish to be a queen” you grumble out.

“You’re the only woman on the continent who has ever uttered those words. Your bags have been packed, we leave within the hour.”

 A week into the trip, you want to kill your father. Or yourself. The carriage is crowded and he won’t stop talking. 

“Your job as a noble lady is to be married to a noble man, extending our allyship. You do not have to love him, I do not love your mother.” Your face twists, much like your heart, at his words. 

 They did love each other, you know they did. He ruined it the day we left Barrowhall. He ruined your family. You ignore him, not wanting to fight in these close quarters. You just look out the window. 

 After three long weeks, you finally see Winterfell appear into view, you remember how excited you were last time you were here. Your excitement has been replaced with fear. So much fear. The carriage stops abruptly in the courtyard, a guard opens the door. You have never been happier to stand and stretch in your life, you practically dive out.

 Your head whips up at the sound of your name. There she is, older, but just as beautiful as you remember. “Sansa” you whisper back, you feel the tears slip out of your eyes as you take a step toward her. She walks over to you slowly, you stand frozen for a minute, and envelop her in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. 

“I’ve missed you”

“I’ve missed you so much”

Whispers and apologies were said between each other, sorry for what happened, sorry for not being there, sorry for not writing. Sansa steps back and wipes her eyes with a small laugh. You squeeze her hand. The sound of throat clearing makes you turn your head. There he stood. 

“Apologies, your grace” you scramble in front of him and curtsy. When you rise from your curtsy and look at him, you realize who he is. The bastard boy you had met the last time you were here. Your mouth parts at him softly and closes again.

“Nice to see you again, My lady” his voice is warm, and sweet, much deeper than it was last you heard it. He was just a boy then, but now, he is a man. His face, more handsome, and a bit worn, but his eyes are the same ones you snuck out of the great hall to see.

“I did not know who the King of the North was, but I did not think it was you” You smile softly “Oh, um Your Grace!” you add nervously, wanting to leave Winterfell with your head. 

Jon laughs softly “You do remember me.” your breath catches in your throat, he remembers you as well. You open your mouth to respond. 

“Your Grace!” your father bows in front of him, cutting you off. “My daughter and I are most honored to be here.” His head turns to the carriage arriving in the courtyard, another very pretty girl pops her head out. “I’ll leave you to greet your other guests”.

Jon nods at him, his face softening when he looks at you “I’ll have someone show you to your chambers . There will be a small feast tonight, in about an hour's time.” you nod and curtsy politely with a smile, and look at Sansa “I’ll see you later” you giggle at her, and turn your head back to Jon “Your grace” you give a polite nod as you follow the maid into the castle.

 Sansa turns to look at him, a small smirk on her face.

“What?” Jon looks back at her with a small smile 

She shakes her head and greets the next guest, a little less friendly. 

 Sat on the end of the bed in your chambers, dressed for the feast. A warm green gown picked out, as much as you missed the North and all its charm, the fashion of the reach was much better. There is a pit in your stomach. Lucky for you, you were allowed separate chambers from your father, his incessant scolding would’ve driven you to murder. 

A knock on the door rouses you from your thoughts.

 “My Lady? I’ve come to escort you the the Great Hall, the feast is about to begin”

You smile softly, taking a deep breath and standing up. You swing the door open, and look at the maid with a small hello. She walks you down the hallways, you look around. It feels so familiar and so foreign. She stops at a large set of doors and opens them for you. 

You enter a very crowded room, full of Lords, and young ladies vying for the attention of the king. You scan the room, the only familiar face you can find is your father, and you decide quietly sulking in the corner is better than dealing with him right now. You turn your head to the other end of the room, and see Sansa sitting next to Jon, you decide to leave them alone. He should busy himself with talking to ladies who actually wish to marry. So you decide to walk around until your eyes fall on a very large man with very messy ginger hair. 

 “Where are you from?” you approach the man, a small smile on your face.

“The North” he almost grunts out, you cock your head 

“Yes I figured, we are in the North” you smile and try to be polite 

“No” he laughs “We are in the south, I’m from the true North” You blink at him a few times, lost.

“I’m from North of The Wall” your eyes open wide at his words.

“What is your name?” you ask curiously. “I’ve never met anyone North of The Wall”

“Tormund Giantsbane. Do you want to hear where I got my name from?” your smile eggs him on, he begins to tell the story, until a big hand lands on your shoulder.

“Trust me, you do not want to hear that” Jon stands behind you, your breath catches slightly.

“Your Grace” you turn around and curtsy at him “I think I might” you smile softly

“I assure you my lady, you do not. And I believe I told Tormund not to tell anyone that story tonight.” Tormund just shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

“Are you avoiding me?” Jon asks with a small smile playing on his lips.

“Of course not Your Grace!” You offer him a nervous smile, trying to sound sincere.

Jon's smile is light on his lips “It’s okay if you are, I won’t be offended” He leans back against a table, staring at you. “Would you like a drink?”

I smile softly, my cheeks getting warm. “My father might throw a fit if he finds out I have been drinking, but thank you” Jon laughs

“You’re what, twenty and two and your father won’t let you have wine?” He smiles playfully “The Lord Caswell of Bitterbridge sounds strict”

You groan “You have no idea. Whenever he inherited our uncle's title, he went crazy.” you roll your eyes with a laugh “ladies don't drink, ladies don't run, ladies don't shout” you say in a mocking voice.

Jon smiles looking at you “You haven’t changed much, you know. Just taller.” he breathes “When we met, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. You were kind. kind to me, kind to servants, kind to everyone.”

Your cheeks glow at the intensity of his words “I thought you were very handsome.” you admit softly “So handsome that when I told my father I had met you he yelled at me in the great hall” your laugh brings a smile to Jon's face. “And I still snuck out to find you”

“And look at him now, offering you up to marry me.” Your face falls a bit at his words. 

“Your Grace, may I speak freely?” Jon's smile falters at the polite words, but he nods. “I do not wish to be married.” you swallow nervously “ I wish to inherit my fathers titles and my home.”. Jon blinks at you for a moment.

“Do you think you could?” He asks thoughtfully.

“He has been trying to marry me off since I was ten and three. It has not worked yet. He's growing weary” Jon smiles, a little sad at your words.

“I’d be good to you, you know” his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“I believe that, I do.” you breathe softly “ Go on, there are plenty of pretty ladies who I’m sure want me dead for talking to you for so long.” you give him a laugh, feeling the weight off your shoulders. You set off to find Sansa in the crowd. 

 As soon as you walked off, disappointment crossed Jon's face. He never stopped thinking about you, truly. The pretty girl who had captured his heart at such a young age. He could force you to marry him, you would not be the first Lady dragged into her own wedding. He shook off the thought of that, he was dar too honorable and kind to do that to you. Not to mention,  you would never forgive him. He swallows his frustration as he searches the room, looking for you. His eyes fall on your father. He walks over to him.

“Lord Caswell, are you enjoying yourself?” He places a big hand on your fathers shoulder, like he was greeting an old friend.

“Your Grace, I am, thank you. Have you spoken to my daughter yet, I can try and find her?” Your father turns around, searching for you.

“It’s quite alright, my lord. I spoke to her earlier.” Jon swallows, feeling guilty for what he's about to do. 

He has waited for everything his whole life. He wanted to be a Stark, he wanted to be a king. He was done with sitting and waiting. He wants you. And he knows how he is going to make it happen.

“She told me she does not wish to be married?”

Your father quietly seethes, he thought that he got through to you during the ride up to Winterfell. “Your Grace, she forgets herself sometimes.” your father mutters your name like a curse. 

“It’s quite alright, My Lord, I do not intend to force anyone to marry me. I am no Lord Ashford.” He laughs dryly. “ Though I heard that he’s looking for another wife”. With that he walks away. Lord Ashford is an unsightly and perverted old man, His wives are younger than many of his children, and he always seems to be in the market for another one soon after. He knows it's wrong, but he hopes putting the idea into your fathers head will drive you into his arms. And you’ll never have to know. He walks over to a servant girl 

“If you hear any commotion in Lord or Lady Caswell's chambers tonight, please come and get me.”

Hours go by. You’re exhausted and your feet are killing, you decide to slip away from the feast and head back to your chambers. The crowd is thinning out anyway. You walk down the hall and into the room, and flop down on the bed with a grunt.

You stand up and slip into your night gown, removing the various pins from your hair when your door flies open. Your head whips around.

“Do you ever learn? Do you?” your father is seething with rage, a vein pops out on his forehead. “You will never be lady of Bitterbridge, do you hear me?” He's about half an inch from your face as he's screaming.

“Lord Ashford is looking for another wife, you will be married and that is final. I will send a raven come first light. He will not mind if I drag you to the altar.”

Your blood runs cold at his words. “I will not.” Your breathing quickens

He grabs your arm tight “You will. I will not let you bring shame to our family name any longer.” He spits out your name with disgust. Panicked you try and rip your arm away

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Is everything alright?” you both freeze and turn, Jon is standing in your chambers. 

“I am so sorry Your Grace, My daughter and I were just getting ready to leave”  your mouth is dry, shooting pain from your arm where he's grabbed you, you look at Jon.

You know you have to make a choice. Your father has threatened this before, to drag you to the altar by your hair, but most of the Lords you turned down are uninterested afterwards. You knew Lord Ashford would not mind a fight.

“I’ll marry you! Please!” you sputter out, voice quick and afraid. Your eyes scan Jon's face, worried it is too late . 

“Alright, Lord Caswell, hands off my intended”. Your father removes his hands quickly, a small smile crossing his face “Well, that is good news. I’ll write to your mother” He walks out. 

Jon kneels down in front of you “Are you alright?” He holds your arm gently in his hands, making sure nothing is wrong. 

You nod quickly “yes, yes I’m okay.” the gravity of what just happened falls on your chest as you look at Jon. Jon looks back at you. 

“We’ll talk in the morning. Get some rest.” he raises your hand to his mouth, lips brushing your knuckles before walking out of the room. 

You’re left alone in the room, your mind is reeling. That's it. You’ll never see your home again. You never said goodbye to your brother and mother. You were so confident that you would be back. It's not like they cared anyway. The family you loved had died with your uncle. And you can't go home to fix it.

You find the strength to stand up and crawl under the furs on the bed. You weep silently into your pillow, mourning for the life you had fought so long for. 

 A small knock on the door rouses you from your sleep. You sit up on the bed, rubbing your eyes.

“Hello?” you call out. The sun is just peaking over the horizon, flooding your room with light. The door creaks open. 

“My Lady” a nice older woman walks in, with a bright smile. “His Grace and Lady Sansa have requested you to come to the hall and have breakfast with them. I am here to help you get ready”

You try to bring a smile to your face despite the pounding of your heart. The events of last night flood in. Your whole life has been flipped on its side and you can’t seem to have a single coherent thought without your body spiraling to panic. Despite the feeling of impending doom, you stand from the bed. The woman helps you dress and leads you to the great hall.

You walk through the doors with your hands clasped in front of you and look up to see Sansa and Jon smiling.

“Good morning Sansa, Your Grace” you nod politely with a small smile. Jon gestures to the empty seat in between them. Once you sit he turns his head to look at you.

“Did you sleep okay?” His eyes are warm, trying not to frighten you.

“Yes” you whisper softly, your voice shaking

“You sound like a kitten” Sansa laughs a bit “I heard what happened, I am sorry”. She places her hand over yours, the gesture is comforting. 

“Your father left at some point last night.” Jon eyes you, checking for some sort of reaction

Your heart drops a bit. “Good” you say plainly, not sure if you mean it. 

“Eat” Jon points at your plate. “I did not see you eat last night”

You eye him softly “I ate last night”

How the hell would he know if you didn’t.

“Don’t lie to me. Eat” There is no real seriousness in his voice, not wanting to make you any more nervous than he already has. “I am going to work out a few details for the wedding. You ladies enjoy your breakfast” he steps away from the table and you turn to Sansa

“I’m Jon Snow, eat your breakfast” You point to her full plate with a laugh, making your voice deep and trying to copy his accent. Jon stops in his tracks and turns around. 

Sansa laughs loudly as you stare at him, your cheeks warming.

“Your grace I am sorry I was just joking” you feel like you want to crawl out of your skin.

Jon gives you a laugh and shakes his head “I don't sound like that. Eat.”

You nod quickly and take a bite of your bread, Sansa wiping her eyes from laughing so hard.

“He does sound like that.” you smile, chewing the bread in your mouth. Sansa smiles at you. 

“Jon is a good man” Sansa looks at you softly “He will never hurt you, that I promise. He seems to like you a lot already. And we will be sisters, what we’ve always dreamed of”

You grab her hand in yours and squeeze, feeling some of the nerves die down. You guess if it had to be anyone, you're glad it's Jon. He is handsome, and he seems kind. 

“You should talk to him later, he won’t bite” Sansa states again and you nod, a little embarrassed at the thought.

“Okay” you breathe, and swallow your last bit of breakfast “I will”

Sansa smiles at you, and stands up “I have a few things to get done today, I’ll see you later”

You watch her walk off and out of the hall, and stand up, smiling at the servant who takes your empty plate. You decide to take a little walk. 

 The sound of your boots bounce off the walls, echoing quietly as you walk. You twist and turn, trying to learn the layout. A beautiful painting on the wall catches your eye, you admire it as you walk. All of a sudden your face is knocked into a hard chest.

“Are you alright?” You look up and see Jon smiling at you

“Deja Vu” you laugh, your face warming up “I’m fine”

“I was looking for you, can we talk?” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace, of course.” His eyes narrow a bit at your words.

“And cut that out. Where is the girl who used to beat her brother in the courtyard?” He smiles wide with a small laugh “Just call me Jon.”

You follow a step behind him down the corridor, until he stops and pushes a brown door open. His chambers. He walks in and steps to the side. 

“Come in, it's alright” You swallow nervously as you step in, watching as he closes the door behind him. “I wanted to talk to you alone, and see how you’re feeling”

Your heart jumps a little at his concern, you watch him pull out a seat at the small table in the corner of the room, gesturing for you to sit. 

“Im alright, really” You sit in the seat, uttering a small thank you when he pushes you in. 

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you needed anything, you could come talk to me” He takes a seat in the chair opposite you and offers you a warm smile. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt ya”

You try to focus on your breathing, you know that, but do you? How many men have seemed harmless then turned once it's too late to go back? What do you know of being a wife, never mind a queen?

Jon notices your mind racing and places a hand on yours “Hey” he mutters softly. His words make you blink back to reality.

“Jon” his name seems foreign on your tongue now, he's a king “Are you sure you don't want someone else? Call one of those other ladies ba-”

“No.” He cuts you off, a finality in his voice that makes you sit up a little straighter “I don't want anyone else” You blink at him a few times.

“Jon I” you breathe in “I don’t know how to be a queen.” you look down, your hands suddenly the most intriguing thing in the room. “Or a wife. No one ever taught me the things you should know” The words are spilling out of your mouth, you can’t stop them.

He says your name softly “Look at me”

You slowly raise your eyes to see him, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” He's scanning your face, making sure he fully understands. “Don’t be worried, I promise I would never lay a hand on you that you did not want.” he smiles softly “I’ll teach you everything you need to know about being queen. It’s mainly just boring meetings” he laughs softly, trying to put you at ease “I promise I’ll teach you everything you need to know, when you’re ready” Your face burns hot at the implications, it doesn't help that he's still staring into your soul.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Everything I’ve ever wanted has slipped out of my fingers.” You try to fight the tears back, it feels like you’ve swallowed glass. “My father used to be a good man, a kind man. The day my uncle died and we returned back home to Bitterbridge, there was a shift. A change that I never fully understood.”

You shake your head, “He used to tell me that although I looked just like him, I acted just like my mother. He told me he loved that.” Jon's eyes never leave your face.

“He taught me how to climb trees, and play, and how to punch my brother just right so I don’t hurt him too badly, but I could get him off my back.” a pained laugh escapes your lips. “He never seemed to mind that he had married into my mothers family, not the other way around. Once he got the chance to truly be a lord, to take back his home that he felt he deserved somehow, everything was about image. How I walked, how I talked, how I danced - everything.” 

Jon's eyes soften at your emotion, he fights back the urge to wrap you in a hug and whisper in your ear until the tears dry. Instead he rubs his thumb on your knuckles, urging you to continue. 

“And my brother? My father allowed him to get worse. Far worse. I wanted to inherit Bitterbridge for myself, those good and kind people struggle under my father every day. I want to help them. I can’t do that now. It won’t get better when my brother becomes Lord either.” you stop yourself, feeling guilty for dropping this on the poor man who just wanted to check up on you. 

“Let me tell you something.” Jon speaks up, his kind eyes staring at you. “I have had my eyes on you since the first day you stepped into Winterfell. Twice a year like clockwork when your family would come, I’d wait for you. I knew better than to approach the Little Lady Dustin, but I’d watch your head poke out of that carriage and run for my sister. I had never seen a girl like you.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, your heart starts beating wildly. 

“You looked like a proper lady, and talked like one around adults, then the minute you were alone your mouth would run wild. I remember when I was seven, you had come to visit. It was the summer feast. You and Sansa had been playing tag in the courtyard, and Lord Umber's youngest son came along, and he pushed you to the ground.”

“I remember that, the little shit”

Jon laughs at your words, and continues “I went to walk over, when all of a sudden your tiny little fist went flying at his face. I’ll never forget it. That night, I told my father that I wanted to marry you. Of course, he tried to explain that I couldn't, but I did not care. And for years I sat and watched you, you had my little heart in the palm of your hands.” He laughs quietly at his words and looks at you. 

“So you’ve been stalking me since I was a babe?” Your words hold no malice, a small smirk rises on your lips as you say it.

“Aye, I was a creepy little shit back then. I knew I couldn’t talk to you, and your family never stayed long enough for me to sneak around to see you. Sansa would’ve had my head back then, anyway.”

Another smile crosses your face, nostalgic for the past.

“I met a girl, when I was out behind the wall. She reminded me a lot of you. She wasn’t as nice, and surely wasn’t a proper lady, but you both had a sharp tongue about you”

You look in his eyes, and they seem a little sad. You don’t push any further. 

“I bet she was lovely.”

Jon smiles at you “Are you feeling better? At all?”

You give him a small nod and a grateful smile “I am.”

He smiles back at you “Good.” and takes your hand. 

Your eyes flutter open softly as the lights pours through the window. An ache pounds against your skull and a soft groan escapes your lips. You shift a bit, ready to pull yourself off the bed, and you feel a strong pair of arms tighten around your waist.

Oh 

You turn your head, trying to look behind you. Jon.

Memories from last night come flooding in, you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. You had gotten drunk for the first time and practically threw yourself at him. The shame pools deep in your stomach. You feel sick.

You look to see Jon stirring softly, and his eyes open slowly. He blinks a few times before turning to you. 

“Good morning”

His hair is a mess, sticking up every which way. It almost made you laugh. Almost.

“Hi” you whisper back, awkward. You’re painfully aware of the hands splayed on your stomach. You’re not sure of what to do.

“How did you sleep?” He asks, voice gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine.

“Good” you answer back, soft and short. You’re uncomfortable, it's obvious. You sit up. 

Jon stares at you, eyes swimming with something, but stays silent. His eyes never leave you as he watches you stand up. 

A soft knock raps against the door of the chambers. You silently thank the gods for the intrusion, worried about having to talk to Jon more. You know it's unfair, but the shame coursing through your body is clouding all judgement. Lyessa, your ladies maid, enters the room. 

“I’ve come to get you ready for the day, Your Grace.” 

There it is again, the title you’re not sure you deserve. It sounds so foreign. 

“Thank you, Lyessa.”

You don’t turn to look at Jon as you walk behind the partition on the other side of the room, Lyessa following right behind you with a beautiful grey gown. 

You can hear Jon shuffling on the other side of the chambers, probably getting ready himself. You keep your eyes fixed on the ground as you drop your nightgown around your ankles. 

“I trust you had a good night, Your Grace?” She gets very close to you, ensuring only you can hear her words. She has a small coy smile on her face. 

You swallow and try to plaster the most convincing smile you can muster while nodding. 

She laces your gown up, the fabric warm and lined with fur. You hear the door open and close. Jon has left the room. 

“You look beautiful, now for the hair.” She leads you over to a small stool, and starts braiding here and pinning there. “Should I have your things moved into the king's chambers?” She asks softly, her eyes fixed on the strand she was wrangling. 

You blink a few times “I don’t know” you whisper out. 

Lyessa decides to stop with the questions for now. 

Once your hair is complete she steps away from you with a smile. She hands you your cloak, similar to the one you wore yesterday, but the fur is black. The Stark crest embroidered on the collar, you feel mixed emotions as you rub your thumb over it. 

“Time for breakfast my queen, would you like me to walk you down?” She smiles at you, a hint of pity behind her eyes. You hate that look. 

“I’m okay Lyessa, but thank you” you nod at her as you slowly stand up from the stool. You smooth out the non-existent wrinkles from your dress. Lyessa crosses the room and holds the door open for you, you walk through the doors and bid her a small smile. 

You step slowly down the hallway, taking in the sights of the castle that’s now yours, and hoping that if you take enough time you’ll miss Jon and be able to have breakfast alone.

“Your Grace.” a voice speaks from behind you, and you turn quickly.

“Ah Samwell!” you smile at the man behind you, giving you an awkward bow. “I hope you enjoyed the feast.”

Sam smiles at you with a nod “We had a wonderful time, thank you. It was good to see Jon again, and meet you of course!” 

You soften at his words. He seems very sweet. “That makes me happy to hear. I was just heading to the great hall to have some breakfast. Have you and your family eaten yet?” You ask softly. Partially hoping to get to hold little Sam again. 

“Gilly’s dressing the little one now. We’ll be along shortly.” 

You smile at him with a nod. “I will see you down there then.” and you continue your trip through the castle. 

You open the heavy doors to the hall, eyes scanning the room. They fall on Sansa and Jon sitting at the table, a chair in between them left open for you. 

“Good morning, Your Grace” Sansa smiles at you, her voice is laced with amusement. 

You let out a soft laugh “Ah ah ah… where is my curtsy?”  

She rolls her eyes playfully and pulls out your chair for you. “That is all you will receive from me.”

You smile at her, and eyes drift to Jon. He's looking right at you, you offer him a small but awkward smile. He returns it. 

The servants come and place a plate in front of you, you thank them. The smell of the meat wafts into your nose, you’re hungrier than you thought. You lift a bite to your mouth. 

“There’s a small council meeting today. In about an hour's time.”

Your head turns to Jon, eyes wide. You swallow the bite in your mouth.

“And I’m invited?” you ask, hopeful. 

Jon cocks his head at you. “You’re the queen are you not?”

Heat rises to your cheeks “Well last I checked I am, I didn’t know that queens were allowed.” 

Jon shakes his head at you, a small smile ghosting his lips. “That’s not how I do it here. You’re too smart to be sat on a shelf.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his words. This is what you always wanted, what your father never allowed. Who were you to question this? 

“I’ll be there” Sansa smiles at you “and Lady Lyanna Mormont. I think you’ll quite like her.” 

You nod your head, deep in thought. 

Jon eyes you softly before standing up. “I have some paperwork to get ready before the meeting. I’ll see you both there.” He places his hand on your back before walking off. 

Sansa watches him walk about before whipping her head over to you. “What is the problem?”

Your eyes widen, she's always been good at reading you. “Nothing.” you mumble out, pushing your breakfast around with your fork. 

“Liar” her eyes narrow. She places her hand over yours “Tell me everything that happened. Or… not everything” she laughs a bit “There are some things I do not wish to hear” 

Your cheeks burn at the implication of her words. You let out a soft groan before dramatically letting your face drop into your hands. “I don’t know” 

Sansa looks at you, waiting for you to continue. 

“I just… we were… ugh!” Your face is burning hot. You can’t seem to spit the words out. The shame is clawing up at your throat. 

Sansa softens immediately, she speaks your name sweetly, like she did when you were children. “You’re a married woman, whatever happened, there should be no shame. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Sansa panics slightly. 

No! no , of course he didn't" you quickly reassure her. “We did, something, partially, not quite the whole thing…” you trail off slightly looking away from her. “And I enjoyed it. I was not acting like a lady, he must be so disappointed in me.”

Sansa can’t help the small laugh that claws up her throat.

“Sansa!” your voice is a mix of a yell and a whine. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. You think Jon thinks less of you… because you enjoyed an intimate moment? A moment that occurred within the bounds of marriage?” She shakes her head, unsure of how to navigate this. The last thing she wants to hear about is her brother's marital bed… but as a friend she's dying to know. “Who in the gods’ name has gotten into your head? What kind of mad septas did you have in the south?”

You can’t help it, a laugh escapes your lips “Come on Sansa I’m serious” 

“As am I” She shakes her head with a smile on her lips. “There is nothing improper about what happened between you and your husband. Seriously.” 

“I know that… in my head I know that. But I can’t get past this horrendous feeling in my chest. I didn’t even want to look at him” You sigh, looking at her. 

Sansa gives you an apologetic smile. “Your family did you no favors, you know. I know they were trying to raise a proper lady, but someone should’ve told you the truth of things.”

You roll your eyes. “My father was more concerned with selling me off to the highest bidder than he was making sure I would lead a happy life.” 

Sansa’s deep in thought for a moment before looking at you “I really wish you married someone else.” She crinkles her nose in disgust. “I don’t want to hear about you bedding my brother.”

You laugh, exasperated. “That is fine with me because I think I’d sooner die than tell you about it right now.”

“We should go,” you say to her as you rise to your feet. “I don’t want the council's first impression of me to be tarnished by my tardiness” 

Sansa stands with you and eyes your mostly fully breakfast plate “Do not tell Jon you didn’t finish. He’ll be unhappy.” 

You smile at that and roll your eyes.

Sansa laughs all the way down the hall, her steps light and confident. The sound is comforting, even if your nerves are not.

You stop together in front of the small council chamber.

“Ready?” she asks, offering you a soft smile.

You nod, clenching your hands at your sides as the doors open. You step into the room, trying to steady your breath.

The council stands the moment you enter.

“Your Grace,” several voices echo in unison.

It feels strange. Surreal. You manage a polite smile and scan the room quickly for familiar faces. There’s Sam, smiling kindly. And the large ginger man you remember from the feast.

You walk toward the empty seat beside Jon. When you sit, the rest of the room follows. Jon doesn’t speak, but you feel the brush of his gaze on you. It helps, slightly.

Sansa walks behind you and takes the seat across the table. You offer her a small, grateful smile.

A man with a weathered face and kind eyes leans forward slightly.

“Your Grace. I am Ser Davos of House Seaworth. Hand of the King. I apologize that I was not able to greet you sooner.”

You smile back at him, your voice calm despite the flutter in your chest. “No apologies necessary, Ser. I imagine being Hand of the King keeps you quite busy.”

Davos nods, clearly appreciative of your grace.

Your attention shifts to the small, fierce-looking girl seated next to him. Her expression is unreadable.

“Your Grace. Lyanna Mormont, Representative of the smaller houses.” Her voice is steady and sharp.

“Nice to meet you, Lady Mormont,” you reply with a soft smile.

She does not return it.

The large ginger man stands next, grinning from ear to ear.

“Tormund Giantsbane. Representative of the Free Folk.”

“Nice to see you again, Tormund,” you say, a genuine smile forming. “I’m still waiting to hear the story behind your name.”

Tormund opens his mouth, but Jon speaks before he can begin.

“No.”

You shake your head, laughing quietly, and wink at Tormund. He grins.

“Samwell Tarly, Your Grace,” Sam says with a nod. “Grand Maester.”

“Yes, hello Sam.” Your smile warms, and your voice softens. “It’s good to see you again.”

The last man in the room hasn’t looked at you once. When he speaks, his voice is cool.

“Lord Umber. Representative of the Old North and tradition.”

You keep your tone gracious. “Pleased to meet you, my lord.”

He does not respond.

Jon clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming.”

The room quiets immediately. You sit up a little straighter in your chair.

“There are several matters we need to discuss today,” Jon continues. “But first: winter supplies. Some of the outer villages have begun sending word. Food is already running low in certain areas.”

Davos speaks up. “We planned well, but the winter was longer than expected. Stores in White Harbor and Bear Island are holding, but the smaller, inland villages near the Wolfswood are struggling.”

Lyanna Mormont frowns. “We’ll share what we have, of course, but Bear Island can only stretch so far. The fishing’s been poor this season. Storms have made the waters too dangerous.”

“Same in the Northmarch,” Lord Umber says, arms crossed. “I don’t see how we're meant to keep feeding mouths that don’t belong to our lands. If the smaller villages are starving, maybe their lords should have prepared better.”

You blink, surprised at the coldness in his voice.

Jon leans forward. “We are all one North now. The war ended that division. We can’t afford to start thinking about borders again.”

Tormund grunts. “Maybe you lot should start thinking about how many of those mouths are alive because of us. We fought your wars. We bled on your snow. Now we’re told we eat too much?”

“No one said that,” Sansa cuts in smoothly, always composed. “But rations are tighter than expected. We need a solution, not a fight.”

There’s a beat of silence. You glance around the table. Every face looks strained.

You clear your throat. The sound feels loud in the quiet room.

“If I may,” you say softly. All heads turn toward you.

You swallow, but keep going. “What if we organize traveling granary wagons? One from each of the major strongholds. They could move along a set route, delivering supplies to the struggling villages on rotation. It wouldn’t strain any one house too much, and no village would be left behind.”

Davos leans back in his chair, considering. “That could work.”

Sansa nods slowly. “It would show unity, as well. A symbol that the North stands together, practically and politically.”

Tormund shrugs. “As long as we’re fed, I don’t care what it’s called.”

Lyanna Mormont looks at you for a long moment. “It’s a decent plan.” Her voice is still blunt, but something in her eyes has shifted.

Lord Umber doesn’t look at you, but his jaw ticks.

Jon speaks, and when he does, his voice is low but sure. “I agree. Make it happen. Draft a list of how much each house can safely send. We’ll finalize the routes in the next meeting.”

Davos starts writing notes. Sansa is already murmuring something to Sam.

Jon turns to you briefly. His hand rests just barely on the table between you, his pinky brushing yours.

You don’t look at him, but you feel the warmth of it anyway.

The scrape of quills on parchment fills the room as the council finalizes the ration rotation. Sam is scribbling notes, and Davos reads them aloud for clarity.

Just as the meeting begins to shift to the next topic, Lord Umber speaks, his voice cutting through the quiet like frostbite.

“I wonder,” he says, eyes not on the parchment, but on you, “if it’s wise to take advice on Northern survival from someone who’s never spent a true winter here.”

The words hang in the air.

Jon’s eyes lift slowly from the table. Sansa stiffens beside him. Tormund looks up from picking at a splinter in the wood, his grin gone.

Lord Umber leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but it’s no secret you were raised in the Reach. Southern bred. Soft winters. Softer customs. This isn’t the South. We don't thrive on words and dresses.”

Your throat tightens, but you don’t flinch. 

“I wasn’t aware survival was only reserved for those raised in the snow,” you say evenly.

He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “You might dress in fur, but you weren’t forged for the cold. The people see it. The lords whisper it. You sit in the Queen’s seat, but you don’t speak like one of us.”

Before you can respond, Jon speaks. His voice is low, but there's iron behind it.

“She’s your queen, Lord Umber. You’ll treat her as such.”

Umber doesn’t back down. “I swore my sword to you, Your Grace. Not to her.”

Jon’s expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. Cold. Still.

“She is my wife. My queen. You show her disrespect in this room, you show it to me.”

A quiet falls. Tense. Waiting.

Sansa’s voice is the one to cut through it, calm and sharp. “The last time a Northern lord refused to accept the queen beside his king, we lost a kingdom. You may remember how that ended.”

Umber’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t speak again.

You finally meet his gaze.

“I may have been raised in the Reach,” you say, voice steady, “but I was born in the North. It would do you well to remember that half my blood is of House Dustin. I was not raised blind. I know what it means to be dismissed. I know what it means to earn respect, not inherit it. If you’re waiting for me to apologize for where I grew up, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

Across the table, Lyanna Mormont nods once, almost imperceptibly. Tormund lets out a low, approving grunt.

Jon doesn’t touch you, doesn’t need to. The weight of his silence is enough.

“Is there anything else, Lord Umber?” Davos asks smoothly, pen poised.

He doesn’t respond

“You are all dismissed. Thank you” Jon's voice cuts through the silence. 

The room stands, as you and Jon walk out. His hand on the small of your back. He leans in close, “I need to talk to you.” 

You nod slightly, he leads you all the way to your shared chambers. 

 Once inside he turns to you, a small smile “You did well.”

You smile back at him “Lord Umber is an ass” 

Jon nods his head in thought. “He is.” His face falls slightly “He should not have spoken to you like that. I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again” 

You shake your head “it is alright, no need to worry.”

His eyes scan your face for a moment, he knows he needs to talk to you about this morning, but he doesn’t want to scare you off even more. He says your name. 

“If… if I did anything last night that you were not okay with, please understand that I am so sorry.”

Your head whips up, eyes wide “Oh Jon no, Gods no you did nothing wrong.” 

He blinks at you for a moment. “Then... what happened?” 

Heat creeps up your cheeks, you clench your hands at your sides, head down “It is hard to explain”. It’s really not, you just don’t want to. 

Jon grabs your hand in his “Try”

You sigh soft “Jon… I’m ashamed of how I acted.” your mouth feels dry. “I know..I know it’s silly to feel this way. I know you taught me what it meant to be intimate with someone you care about last night, but I can’t shake the feeling deep down that it was wrong. I was taught that a woman's desires were wrong, and disgraceful even. I know I initiated most of last night's events, and it feels wrong. I’m worried you might’ve thought differently of me. ” your voice shakes as you try to steady your breath “I just feel like there’s something wrong with me. That I missed a piece on what it means to be a lady.” 

Jon looks at you a moment before stepping forward, hooking a finger under your chin. You look up at him. 

“You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Truly.” he looks away trying to find his words, before looking back at you. “To see you the way I did last night, was the most beautiful thing in the world. Breathless and pleading, I cannot describe the way it made me feel. The first girl I had ever loved, the one I dreamt of as a boy, sat in my lap with those beautiful eyes. All mine.” 

His words make your breath hitch in your throat and heat pool in your belly. 

“You are my wife. There is no more shame between us, there's nothing you could do that would be ‘improper’, do you understand me?”

You nod breathlessly, heat spreading through your body. 

“And do not be mistaken, the only reason I did not initiate is because you told me you were unsure. I would’ve taken any part of you that you offered up.” His eyes are scanning over your face, a soft blush dusts his cheeks. 

   “Jon” you whisper out, you crash your lips onto his, hands gripping his arms.

He kisses you back passionately for a moment, before scooping you into his arms. He walks over to the bed and places you softly on it. 

He kicks off his boots before crawling over you, his lips don’t leave yours for one moment. 

He whispers your name against your lips, before pulling away. His face is serious. “You are not to run from me, especially after we have been intimate. You can talk to me about anything.” 

You nod at him, fisting his shirt, before pulling him back to your mouth. He smiles against your lips. 

He plants his hands firmly on your hips, as he kneels between your legs. He pulls away again, a whine escapes you. 

“Eager are we?” he teases, his voice low in your ear.

“Shut up” you glare at him. 

A smile crosses his face as he picks his head up from the crook of your neck. “What… what do you want me to do?” His eyes are serious as he looks at you. 

You writhe underneath him, every part of your body feels like it's on fire, the wetness has already pooled in your smallclothes. “I - I want you Jon, I want you to take me.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and nervous.

A small groan leaves his mouth, “Are you certain?”

You nod at him, desperate “Please” 

Like a flash, he's back on you. His hands trail softly down your sides, gripping your hips. “Sit up.”

You sit up quickly, your breath hitching in your throat 

Jon’s hands are on you in an instant, flipping you around and unlacing your bodice. “So pretty” he murmurs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your spine. 

You shudder under him, a soft gasp catching in your throat, his fingers send a trail of tingles down where he touches “Jon” you whisper, your eyes darting around the room. 

His hands slip your gown down your body, tossing it carelessly in the room. His eyes drag down your naked frame, hungry. He chants your name like a prayer, fire burning in his veins. He kneels between your legs, planting soft kisses down your neck. 

You writhe beneath him 

He says your name again, his voice shakes, he places your legs over his shoulders, burying his head between your thighs, he licks a long stripe on your core. 

“Gods!” you call out, whimpering “Jon, this isn’t-“ your words are cut off by his tongue flicking at your clit, the sensation makes you bury your hands firmly in his dark hair. 

You can hear a deep laugh against your core, the vibrations sending chills up your spine. Your thighs clamp against his head, and he buries himself deeper into you. Your chest is heaving and you’re hot. So very hot. 

Jon picks his head up, his thumb moving to toy with your clit, in small circles. “You alright?” His voice is deep and husky as he looks at you, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his lip. 

You look down and nod quickly, your pupils blown and face warm “Good, I am good” your breathing is ragged. Any thoughts you had of propriety are gone, replaced with the need to keep him between your legs and never let him up.

He dives back in, his tongue swirling circles on your clit, the slurping noises he makes are abhorrent, he digs his hands into the meat of your hips, pulling you closer to his face.

Your body shakes, small gasps leave your mouth, you need to grab onto something. Your hands find their way into his dark curls once more, resting gently. 

He continues his assault on your clit, tasting you like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks gently. 

You gasp and moan, hands tugging on his hair hard. You can feel him groan and smirk against your core, and you want to hear it again. You tug a little harder this time. 

He pops his head up, pupil dilated, his mouth covered in you. He looks sinful. “Careful” his gravely voice sends another pang of heat between your legs. “Don’t start something you can’t finish” his lips tug up at the sides as he smirks at you. 

You pant softly as your eyes lock onto him. A small smile appears on your face as you tug his hair again. 

He raises his eyebrows, a dry chuckle falls from his lips. “Aye, that's how you want to play it?”

You’re no longer as sure of yourself as you were a moment ago, but nonetheless you don't relent “Yes”. Your voice was more of a squeak than a rebuttal.

He crawls up your body, arms caging you on either side of your head, his hand drops down to play with your clit. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you moan softly, head falling back against the pillows. You feel Jon shift, eye popping over when his clothes bulge presses against your hip.

He tries to bite back his smirk, he presses soft open mouth kisses down your neck, all the way to your breast.

You’re panting like an animal now, the ache between your legs growing as Jon relentlessly bullies your clit with his quick movements. He wraps his mouth around one of your nipples and you swear you can see stars. You feel the pressure building in your stomach, small gasps and moans fall from your lips. 

He smirks around your nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud while his lips are sealed around it. He pops off and whispers in your ear “That's my girl, give it to me.”

His words send you over the edge, with a loud moan you finish, your legs shake and chest heaving. 

He groans, a deep rumble in his chest, as he watches you fall apart. “So good” he kisses your cheek softly. 

Your head lolls back, soft pants fall from your lips as you look over at him. 

He smiles at you, and crawls back down your body, planting soft kisses on your inner thigh. “I’m going to get you ready for me, okay?” His voice is warm and sweet. “Let me know if it hurts”

You look down at him and nod, your head falling back again.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit, chuckling as it twitches.

 “Sensitive” he murmurs, almost like he was noting it for later. He licks a fat stripe between your folds. You can feel his finger poking at your entrance, you tense up for a moment. Jon notices instantly, “Shh, relax, I have you” his voice is low as he strokes your thigh lovingly. 

You nod again, relaxing yourself at his words. 

He begins again, he's a mess between your legs, slurping and sucking. You feel him smirk against you when you moan again, fisting his hair. He pushes one finger into you slowly, his mouth doesn't stop for one moment. 

The feeling is odd, but it's subdued by the heavenly feeling of his tongue. You’re moaning again, louder. 

The second finger is hardly noticed by you, too lost in the bliss of his tongue lapping you up like you're the first meal he's had in weeks.

“Gods be good” you stammer out utterly breathless, fingers fisting in his dark curls. “You are an animal”

He chuckles against your flesh, his head pops up for a moment. Pupils blown and wild, his lips glistening with you. The sight makes you quiver. 

“Aye. An animal” He responds. His voice is hoarse. His northern burr sends shivers straight to your core. “Your animal.”

 He dives down once more, the sinful noises of his mouth against you makes you blush. The heat from before builds in your belly again, feeling stronger.

“Jon, oh gods, Jon it.. It’s happening again” Your words are broken by ragged gasps as you begin to twitch, arching toward the ceiling.

Jon doesn't relent. You catch him starting up at you at the apex of your thighs. His tongue lolled out of his mouth while he licked you, and his arm pumping his two fingers inside you, stretching you more than you've ever felt before. The sight throttles you right over the edge. You shout his name as you tense. Like a drawn bowstring, before you slump against the mattress. 

Jon does not stop. He helps you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

“Thats it, my queen. Give me everything”. He murmurs softly, picking his head up while he continues to pump his fingers lazily into you. “I think you’re ready for me now”. His words are not a question, but he watches your face with the intensity of a man who would never force himself onto you. 

Your chest heaves with ragged puffs of air as you look down at him. You give him a soft nod. 

He crawls up your body, planting soft kisses up your navel, chest, neck, then finally your lips. You can taste yourself on him. 

He gently withdraws his fingers from you, they glisten under the light of the hearth. You’re still catching your breath when he nudges the fingers against your lips. 

“You taste sweeter than anything I’ve ever tried” His voice is husky, eyes dark as he looks at you. “It wouldn't be fair if I kept it all to myself, would it?”

You part your lips shyly, your tongue darts out against his fingers for a fleeting moment. “It’s… Good” You murmur softly, cheeks burning ever hotter. 

He smiles at you. “Good?” He shakes his head, before planting a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Better than good, my queen.”

He kneels between your spread legs, one hand moving to cup your face while the other positions the blunt head of his manhood at your core. Just the feeling of your slick heat makes him suck in a sharp breath.

“Gods” He grits out “I’ll be gentle with you, sweet girl. I swear it.” He looks down at you “Are you ready?”

You take in a soft breath, looking up into his eyes. You nod. “Yes… I am”

He pushes forward with more tenderness and care than he ever thought possible. 

You let out a soft gasp at the fullness, clenching around him, the feeling is a velvet fist.

He groans your name, a punched out breath, as his forehead finds purchase at the crook of your neck. “You feel like the seventh heaven.” 

You let out a soft whine, there is a stretch, sweet and hot, pain and pleasure. His hand finds the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. “Oh… Oh Jon. Yes”

The voice ripped from your throat does not even sound like you, high pitched and breathy. Then he begins to move. 

“Jon. Jon. Jon.” You chant his name like a prayer, your head back against the furs and the feather pillows. 

“That's it, that's right. You take it so well, my queen.” He moans into your ear, his voice thick and husky. “So well. Look at me.” 

He picks up his head, and his eyes lock onto yours, hips moving rhythmically. Each thrust steals another breath from your lungs, relishing in the sweetest noises that fall from your lips.

“Mine. You're my wife. Say it”

You let out soft gasps, desperately trying to gather your thoughts as a tight coil winds in your belly.

“Yoursssss” You whine out, high pitched and needy. “Yours yours yours– Oh Gods!”

He drives into your, keeping pace with the soft sighs that fall from your lips. The sounds coming from your body are lewd, wet, and they drive him deeper. 

“You whine so pretty, wife” He grunts out into your ear. His free hand travels around your body. He cups your breast, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on it until it forms a peak, then pinching it gently. 

“Beautiful… just beautiful”

It's all too much. His hands, his cock, the sweet words he whispers into your ear, it drives you right over the edge, finding your pleasure once more. 

‘Yes. That's it. Oh.” He moans out, your name falling from his mouth. His careful rhythm shattering into something far more primal

‘Mine, mine mine mine”

He gives one final thrust, his body tensing with a grunt, spilling inside you. His body slumps against yours, murmuring soft things into your ear. 

“Good” you murmur, words slurred with pleasure and sleep “Very good”.

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tagging everyone that asked for part three!