(NED AND CAT AND ~*EMOTIONS*~? YOU KNOW I’M THERE)
(I get a little warm in my heart) when I think of winter (pt 1/2)
Her lord husband, Eddard Stark (Ned, she reminds herself, she must remember that he asked that she call him Ned), sits next to her on the bed and looks at her as though she is a strange creature, as though he does not know what to do with her or how he ended up pushed into her bedchamber by giggling women who were clutching his clothes by the time he is upstairs and inside.
It is not how she imagined her wedding night.
His brother had been different, wild and merry, with a wicked smile and a sharp jape, and it was to be his brother that she wed, that she gave herself to, she had known it since she was twelve, a young maid with stars in her eyes and dreams in her head (she knows better, now). She had liked Brandon, but Brandon is dead now and she is wed to his brother, met and married all at once, a solemn and stern stranger, and perhaps it is right that Eddard Stark looks so confused, wonders how he arrived to this place.
And so he sits now and stares at her with not sternness but uncertainty in his eyes, and she sits and she waits, and the room is silent. He stares at her, and Catelyn wets her lips nervously, do I not please him? She has thought of how different he is from his brother (shorter and less handsome and so much more serious she tells herself again) but did not think of how she might or might not have met his own expectations. This is not the life he had been born to, perhaps he had wished to be a knight, or had an eye to a northern maid he wished to wed before Brandon rode south and it all fell to him, the north and Winterfell and a girl from Riverrun. “What is it?”
Eddard - Ned - smiles, just a bit, but it softens him, his face so much less severe and solemn, and she feels some of the tension in her shoulders release, a small flutter of hope in the pit of her stomach, perhaps he is not as cold and hard as the castle that is his, now - perhaps there is a warmth to him, somewhere. “Your hair,” he answers, and she furrows her brow, and he sounds almost sheepish when he adds, “it’s…pretty.”
He reaches out a hand, stops, hesitates, and she nods. She closes her eyes when she feels his hand on her hair, to brush a lock off her face, running along the length of the strands, to where it ends under her breasts and he rests his hand there, lightly, on her skin, his eyes still questioning, and her heart is beating hard in her throat.
We are married, she tells herself firmly, swallowing hard against her nerves, she is the brave one of her siblings, she reminds herself, and she wonders briefly how her sister fares. We are married and this is as it should be, and she leans forward to kiss him, her hands on either side of his neck, and she is emboldened by the feel of his pulse thudding there; there is a relief that he is as nervous as she.
He murmurs against her lips when she opens her mouth, his tongue brushing against hers, and it is different, different from a stolen, brief and breathless kiss with her betrothed, different from Petyr and his eagerness in the godswood that left her uneasy, but it is different in a sweet, careful way. She moves her hands to the back of his neck, shifting closer, and suddenly his hand has slid up to cup her breast, his thumb pressing against the nipple, and she shivers at his cool touch on her warm skin.
Ned pulls away but he keeps his hand to her breast, and his voice is husky for all that his eyes are serious and earnest. “I know…” he clears his throat, “I know that…this is not what you expected, my lady. I am not my brother.”
She bites her lip, and feels a sharp pang of sympathy for him then, this boy barely older than she who has lost everything and was told he must be a man, be a lord. “It is not what you expected, either, my lord.”
He meets her gaze, and there is honesty there, and in his voice, “I shall try and be a good husband to you, Catelyn,” and she knows that he means it; and it is that, and the sound of her name on his lips, that leads her to lean forward and kiss him again, more firmly this time. Her hand trails down his stomach to brush lightly against his manhood, uncertainly, and the groan in his throat and the way his hands tighten on her tells her that she has done something right.
With an arm around her shoulders he lowers her to the mattress, mouth moving along her throat; and she is surprised when she feels his fingers between her legs, stroking, surprised when she feels herself growing damp at his touch there, her breath hitching, and she moans suddenly, unexpectedly, and he kisses her on the mouth again.
Despite his care she winces sharply when she feels him push into her, biting her lip hard against the sting, she had heard it would hurt, at first, but she is still surprised at the pain (perhaps her mother would have explained it better, prepared her more, if she could have relied on warm advice and not strained to hear quiet forbidden whispers to know what do I do?).
He stills, holding his weight over her on his forearms, and there is a small sort of comfort when he brushes his lips to her cheek, a silent apology, I am sorry. He is serious and solemn, it is true, but her new husband is not unkind, and there is a steady sort of patience to him, and she lets out a shaky breath as she tries to relax, tries to adjust to the feeling of him inside her. Her nose is pressed to his shoulder and he smells of musk and pine and man, and it is not unpleasant, and nor is the thought that his scent will be familiar to her one day.
She presses her hands to his back as he moves slowly, with long strokes, and she flinches at the lingering discomfort but holds him as he drops his head to her shoulder, his hand running along her side as his movements become more shallow, more quick. He moans softly against her neck and the heat of his breath there sends an unexpected twinge of pleasure between her thighs, just as she feels his seed release inside her, damp on both of them as he pulls back slowly and drops to the pillow beside her, breathless.
Her husband - Ned - gives her another small smile, hesitant, eyes on her face to scrutinize her reaction, and she smiles back so he reaches and takes her hand. His fingers are large and calloused around hers, and there is a comfort to that, too, a feeling of it will be all right, all will be well. He is not his brother, but perhaps that is all right, perhaps in time it will suit, there is a care to his hands that Brandon never had and perhaps one day she will crave his touch.
It hurts at first, but then it gets better, she recalls her serving maid giggling to another, and she wonders if it is the same outside the bedchamber, as well, as she rests in the crook of his arm; perhaps she must merely wait, and perhaps with time and care things will be better.
Once again, your Ned/Cat- I just- guhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. You are the queen of that pairing. I've declared it, and so it shall be.
This is stunning. I love that they actually discuss Brandon- that's a topic that clearly hangs over their marriage, especially in the early days, and it feels so true to their characters to actually address it outright. Ohh darling dearest Ned and his inferiority complex...I just can't tell you how I love the way you write him.
This is a great loss-of-virginity story, not in small part because you acknowledge the pain that Cat experiences. So many first-time stories end with the woman having a fabulous orgasm, to which my response is "......really?" But having Cat just begin to feel pleasure, largely due to the fact that she's coming to understand what a good man she married- perfect.
I'm rambling, but I just love everything you write don't ever stop kthxbye.
I love Ned's insecurity about Brandon in the beginning of the books, especially considering the more we learn of Brandon the more it seems like he was...kind of an ass and Catelyn and Winterfell both probably dodged a bullet there!
I totally agree that loss-of-virginity stories where the sex is mind-blowingly fantastic and ends in an over the top orgasm is just...unrealistic, so I loved the 'AWKWARD TIMES' prompts because I am so sure the first times were in face very awkward (and in this case Ned and Cat are married for over fifteen years at the start of the series, PLENTY OF TIME FOR FABULOUS SEX). I don't think loss-of-virginity fics have be awful and bloody and traumatizing but really in an arranged marriage it is awkward and uncomfortable at best. XD
THANK YOU AGAIN, your comments are always so lovely and I appreciate them so much!!
(I get a little warm in my heart) when I think of winter (pt 1/2)
Her lord husband, Eddard Stark (Ned, she reminds herself, she must remember that he asked that she call him Ned), sits next to her on the bed and looks at her as though she is a strange creature, as though he does not know what to do with her or how he ended up pushed into her bedchamber by giggling women who were clutching his clothes by the time he is upstairs and inside.
It is not how she imagined her wedding night.
His brother had been different, wild and merry, with a wicked smile and a sharp jape, and it was to be his brother that she wed, that she gave herself to, she had known it since she was twelve, a young maid with stars in her eyes and dreams in her head (she knows better, now). She had liked Brandon, but Brandon is dead now and she is wed to his brother, met and married all at once, a solemn and stern stranger, and perhaps it is right that Eddard Stark looks so confused, wonders how he arrived to this place.
And so he sits now and stares at her with not sternness but uncertainty in his eyes, and she sits and she waits, and the room is silent. He stares at her, and Catelyn wets her lips nervously, do I not please him? She has thought of how different he is from his brother (shorter and less handsome and so much more serious she tells herself again) but did not think of how she might or might not have met his own expectations. This is not the life he had been born to, perhaps he had wished to be a knight, or had an eye to a northern maid he wished to wed before Brandon rode south and it all fell to him, the north and Winterfell and a girl from Riverrun. “What is it?”
Eddard - Ned - smiles, just a bit, but it softens him, his face so much less severe and solemn, and she feels some of the tension in her shoulders release, a small flutter of hope in the pit of her stomach, perhaps he is not as cold and hard as the castle that is his, now - perhaps there is a warmth to him, somewhere. “Your hair,” he answers, and she furrows her brow, and he sounds almost sheepish when he adds, “it’s…pretty.”
He reaches out a hand, stops, hesitates, and she nods. She closes her eyes when she feels his hand on her hair, to brush a lock off her face, running along the length of the strands, to where it ends under her breasts and he rests his hand there, lightly, on her skin, his eyes still questioning, and her heart is beating hard in her throat.
We are married, she tells herself firmly, swallowing hard against her nerves, she is the brave one of her siblings, she reminds herself, and she wonders briefly how her sister fares. We are married and this is as it should be, and she leans forward to kiss him, her hands on either side of his neck, and she is emboldened by the feel of his pulse thudding there; there is a relief that he is as nervous as she.
He murmurs against her lips when she opens her mouth, his tongue brushing against hers, and it is different, different from a stolen, brief and breathless kiss with her betrothed, different from Petyr and his eagerness in the godswood that left her uneasy, but it is different in a sweet, careful way. She moves her hands to the back of his neck, shifting closer, and suddenly his hand has slid up to cup her breast, his thumb pressing against the nipple, and she shivers at his cool touch on her warm skin.
Ned pulls away but he keeps his hand to her breast, and his voice is husky for all that his eyes are serious and earnest. “I know…” he clears his throat, “I know that…this is not what you expected, my lady. I am not my brother.”
She bites her lip, and feels a sharp pang of sympathy for him then, this boy barely older than she who has lost everything and was told he must be a man, be a lord. “It is not what you expected, either, my lord.”
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He meets her gaze, and there is honesty there, and in his voice, “I shall try and be a good husband to you, Catelyn,” and she knows that he means it; and it is that, and the sound of her name on his lips, that leads her to lean forward and kiss him again, more firmly this time. Her hand trails down his stomach to brush lightly against his manhood, uncertainly, and the groan in his throat and the way his hands tighten on her tells her that she has done something right.
With an arm around her shoulders he lowers her to the mattress, mouth moving along her throat; and she is surprised when she feels his fingers between her legs, stroking, surprised when she feels herself growing damp at his touch there, her breath hitching, and she moans suddenly, unexpectedly, and he kisses her on the mouth again.
Despite his care she winces sharply when she feels him push into her, biting her lip hard against the sting, she had heard it would hurt, at first, but she is still surprised at the pain (perhaps her mother would have explained it better, prepared her more, if she could have relied on warm advice and not strained to hear quiet forbidden whispers to know what do I do?).
He stills, holding his weight over her on his forearms, and there is a small sort of comfort when he brushes his lips to her cheek, a silent apology, I am sorry. He is serious and solemn, it is true, but her new husband is not unkind, and there is a steady sort of patience to him, and she lets out a shaky breath as she tries to relax, tries to adjust to the feeling of him inside her. Her nose is pressed to his shoulder and he smells of musk and pine and man, and it is not unpleasant, and nor is the thought that his scent will be familiar to her one day.
She presses her hands to his back as he moves slowly, with long strokes, and she flinches at the lingering discomfort but holds him as he drops his head to her shoulder, his hand running along her side as his movements become more shallow, more quick. He moans softly against her neck and the heat of his breath there sends an unexpected twinge of pleasure between her thighs, just as she feels his seed release inside her, damp on both of them as he pulls back slowly and drops to the pillow beside her, breathless.
Her husband - Ned - gives her another small smile, hesitant, eyes on her face to scrutinize her reaction, and she smiles back so he reaches and takes her hand. His fingers are large and calloused around hers, and there is a comfort to that, too, a feeling of it will be all right, all will be well. He is not his brother, but perhaps that is all right, perhaps in time it will suit, there is a care to his hands that Brandon never had and perhaps one day she will crave his touch.
It hurts at first, but then it gets better, she recalls her serving maid giggling to another, and she wonders if it is the same outside the bedchamber, as well, as she rests in the crook of his arm; perhaps she must merely wait, and perhaps with time and care things will be better.
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This is stunning. I love that they actually discuss Brandon- that's a topic that clearly hangs over their marriage, especially in the early days, and it feels so true to their characters to actually address it outright. Ohh darling dearest Ned and his inferiority complex...I just can't tell you how I love the way you write him.
This is a great loss-of-virginity story, not in small part because you acknowledge the pain that Cat experiences. So many first-time stories end with the woman having a fabulous orgasm, to which my response is "......really?" But having Cat just begin to feel pleasure, largely due to the fact that she's coming to understand what a good man she married- perfect.
I'm rambling, but I just love everything you write don't ever stop kthxbye.
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I love Ned's insecurity about Brandon in the beginning of the books, especially considering the more we learn of Brandon the more it seems like he was...kind of an ass and Catelyn and Winterfell both probably dodged a bullet there!
I totally agree that loss-of-virginity stories where the sex is mind-blowingly fantastic and ends in an over the top orgasm is just...unrealistic, so I loved the 'AWKWARD TIMES' prompts because I am so sure the first times were in face very awkward (and in this case Ned and Cat are married for over fifteen years at the start of the series, PLENTY OF TIME FOR FABULOUS SEX). I don't think loss-of-virginity fics have be awful and bloody and traumatizing but really in an arranged marriage it is awkward and uncomfortable at best. XD
THANK YOU AGAIN, your comments are always so lovely and I appreciate them so much!!
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